The Taste of Cherries
by CraneEsque
Summary: Cherie Levins has a very special gift. One that not everyone has. Wherever she goes, the house whispers its secrets to her, the dead call to her for redemption. It was all easier when she was younger, and had her mother to guide her through it. But now its just her, and her father. And...the other residents within Murder House. TateXOC **SPOILERS**
1. Dia De Los Muertos En America

I walked into the house and took a deep breath. The air was thick, almost moldy, and already I could hear it begin to whisper. I did my best to tune it out, putting in one of my earphones and letting the other one hang, allowing the house to become a dull hum in the back of my mind while I followed my father and Marcy around to each room. As we crossed the foyer into the kitchen I felt it—the source of what held them here.

I might have only been sixteen, but I'd gotten a good hold of what makes me unique. You can call it whatever you want, a sixth sense, a power, a gift; I don't care. It's what makes me, _me_. My mother drilled that into my brain when I was little, and taught me everything she could before she died. She taught me not to be afraid, that the dead couldn't really hurt me if I didn't let them. So far, she'd been right.

The door to the basement swung open on it's own, the whispers of the house growing louder until they had completely drowned out my music.

_Oh my poor Thaddeus..._

_...Where's my baby? What have you done to him Charles?_

_I _tried_ to kill it, but it _clung _to life._

_Do you want a baby? _

_Will that make you happy?_

Anyone watching me would have thought that I was in a trance, but I was only fascinated. Every other house had only been a silly secret here or there, a simple story if even that. But this house? It was darker, much darker than any house I'd ever been in. The thought of living here...was absolutely thrilling.

"Cherie?"

My hand stopped its trail on the wall as my father's voice broke through and the house retreated into silence momentarily.

"Yeah, Dad?"

His head popped into the doorway above me, "Come on out of there, we'll get to it with Marcy. Won't we?"

The poor woman looked so startled. Clearly showing the basement wasn't a part of her original plans, and it showed as she wrung her hands nervously.

"That's okay," I chimed happily, "I'll check it out on my own later. I guess Marce isn't to fond of dark spaces."

I gave a slight nod to her thankful smile, and made my way out following them around some more. I didn't pay too much attention though; My thoughts kept wondering back to that basement. Each of the other rooms, though, had their own kind of allure, their own stain from the previous owner. Some were happy, some weren't, but dear God, there was so much _death_. So much sadness. It was isolated though, an obvious separation between those who had found peace here, and those who had lost hope.

We went into the smaller bedroom at the end of the hall on the second floor. Almost immediately I found myself struck with a mix of emotions. Love, betrayal, rejection. This had been the room of a teenage girl most recently, and she too had died here. I could feel her almost as strongly as if she were still in there, crying in confusion, and yet I knew that she wasn't sad anymore, only...mildly disappointed, somewhere in the back of her mind.

Flashes of images came and went, her and a boy—a dead boy, I noted—had been so in love. But something was twisted inside of him, keeping her from fully accepting him. In his own way though, I could sense so much effort.

_For always, _I heard his voice single itself out above the others, an image of his tear-struck face showing clearly in my mind.

"Cherie, are you alright? We can leave if you want..." My father's voice jolted me to the present again. His green eyes were so worried, his orange-red hair mussed a little from where he kept messing with it. Again, I forced another smile.

"I'm great Dad, this place is just so...beautiful." _Interesting, is a better word for it. _

He shrugged and smiled at me, mussing up my hair just a little.

Most people think my Dad and I are a model example of a healthy Father-Daughter relationship. They couldn't be more wrong. We're both just pretending, at least, now we are. We used to be that way for real, and I still am honestly fond of my father. He just doesn't feel the same way about me anymore. We don't really talk about it, but I'll tell you. The real reason we had moved in to that house, back in 2014? It was the same reason that I wasn't in school, and that my father could no longer look at me directly for more than two seconds. I was found in the girls bathroom, holding the half-dead body of Marie Waters by hair while she bled out into the toilet. I guess he never really got over the image of me being dragged into the police station, my black frizzy curls matted with her blood as well as my hands and face.

"So, what do you think?" Marcy said, her falsely chipper voice cutting through my memory, "I can accommodate to any offer, just name your price." She was wringing her hands again, trying not to look nervous. The wrinkles in her face practically quivered from how hard she forced her own smile.

"I don't know," Dad teased, rolling his eyes and leaning towards me, "What do you think Cherie Pop?"

I giggled happily, the way a daughter's supposed to, "I love it."

We looked back at Marcy who seemed relieved already.

"We'll take it." We said together.

* * *

><p>I took the basement for my room. It was secluded, quiet except for the whispers, and I had my own exit.<p>

_Haven't you got any Kurt Cobain?_ One of the whispers came out loudly, a memory from the girl who I knew was watching me. Violet. Her body was still below the house, probably nearly a skeleton already. The house silenced when she appeared. Subconsciously, I sighed with relief.

"Nice, you've got the Ramones. White Stripes...the Cure. I still don't know what the deal is with everybody and the Butthole Surfers though," She said suddenly, and grimaced, her finger tracing each of the different albums on my shelf.

"It's one of those bands you don't like at first, but after you're friends keep playing them over and over and over..." I rolled my eyes to stress my point and grinned at her, "It kinda grows on you."

She gave a sort of half-smile back to me, and stuck her hand out. "I'm Violet, I live in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by and see what all of the commotion was about."

I made sure to give her a knowing look, and took her hand. "I'm Cherie."

Violet wandered around the room for a minute, and I waited until she sat down next to me on the bed, crossing her legs. "So, you're not freaked out that I just kind of walked into your house without knocking?" She asked curiously.

"Not unless you really want to keep up the 'in the neighborhood' charade." I gave her that look again, waiting for her reaction. Her mouth hung open for a second before she closed it and looked away from me. Some people get unnerved with how I look them in the eye, I guess you could say that I'm very direct.

"I-I don't know what you mean. I live like, a few houses down." She started tugging at her sleeves and I waited for her to look at me again.

"What?"

"Vi, it's okay, I already know."

"I don't get it, know what, that I'm..." She trailed off, waiting to see what my conclusion was.

"Dead. Yes."

Her eyes were wide, she gaped opening her mouth and closing it. Looking away and looking back. I sighed and leaned into the mattress. "I kind of have a knack for these things, I already know a lot about what happened here. You and Tate, your Mother and Father, Hayden, Nora. The house already told me."

"...The...house?"

I just shrugged. After a moment I sat up, and went to my CD's. "So, you want me to start drilling that band into your head so you can join the club?"

* * *

><p><em>Come on, you liked it the last time.<em>

"Dad, do you mind if I start having my tutor meet me at, like, the park or something?" I asked, sitting down at the island table and waited for the light knock at the door. She'd probably be a few more minutes.

_That time was a mistake._

He raised his brow, taking a large drink of his coffee before answering. "Yeah, sure. But um, is there any special reason or did you just think it'd sound cool?"

"Kinda both."

_Please, stop. No!_

_Tip, tip, tap._ There she was. Just like before, as soon as she had appeared, the house silenced. I took a relived sip of my chai, watched as my Dad went to the door to let Moira in and set the cup down. Her slight nod to me let me know that Violet had already told her but that she would keep up the charade for my father. I half-way listened as she explained to him that she had been the maid for all of the previous owners, what her hours were, etc. etc. Something was off though, to me she seemed like a sweet old lady, but when she talked her voice sounded young and sultry. It probably had to do with her death.

"I don't know, Miss. We can't really afford a maid." He looked at me, then back to Moira.

"Dad, I don't really think we have a choice. Something tells me that if she's worked here this long, this place is like a second home to her. She might just keep coming back." I told him, walking over to stand next to the both of them.

"Cherie, we don't have the money."

"I'll work for cheap if need be, Miss Cherie's perfectly right. If you refuse my services I'll have no choice but to break in and clean anyway." She smiled sweetly at us.

"Well, okay then. I mean, it really won't be much. We barely have enough for her tutor."

"That's quite alright, Mr. Levins. Money is no issue with me. Now, shall I get started with your breakfast, or do you prefer only coffee and tea in the mornings?"

Within minutes Moira had laid out a large breakfast, and I was pleased to see that she had cooked the scrambled eggs in with the bacon grease, and left the bacon at a perfect chewy texture. The food was delicious. Decades of cooking would probably do that for you, I had thought, smiling to myself. A few more minutes later and my father had scarfed down what little he could, letting me know that he'd call and tell my tutor to pick me up for my lessons later on in the evening as he headed out of the door and kissed my forehead.

"Thank you, Miss Cherie, for convincing your father to keep me here. I don't know what I would do having to keep myself hidden while another family wandered about, messing up the house." Moira had smiled to me, her voice a more natural, gentle old woman's voice.

"No problem. And thank you, for the marvelous breakfast. Seriously, it was delicious." I leaned back in my chair and put a hand on my stomach to show her just how stuffed I was.

"I'm curious though. Most places we go, my Dad can't see anyone like I do. And they're not exactly, trapped, the way that everyone else is here. All the things the house has told me, and yet it hasn't told me about that."

"Some things I supposed are more of a felt knowledge. I've never had any experience with any other ghosts, but perhaps it's because we're trapped here that we are allowed to be seen." I nodded as she leaned lightly against the counter top, thinking for a moment before she went back to cleaning the dishes.

"And there's no way to free you? Is every one trapped here no matter what?"

"Even those who have been laid to rest properly still wander these halls." She said simply, sadly. I took that as a sign to stop talking about it, and made my way back down to my room.

When I got there, Violet lay on my bed, relaxed. She was flipping through the pages of one of my books now, holding it above her head like an eccentric inspector. I chuckled at her. "You can borrow it if you want. It's one of my favorites though, so be careful with it."

"Sweet, thanks. Can I...?" I nodded to her, and the next thing I knew she was running up the stairs with it tucked under her arm, and then she was gone. I smiled after her, laying on the bed as well and trying to decide whether or not to introduce myself to the others, or just let them come to me. After all, some of them might not want anything to do with me or my father. Some of them though, I'm sure would try and scare us out, and I wouldn't be able to stay here anymore. It'd probably be best to talk to Vivian and Ben at the very least.

_I thought you weren't scared of anything! _The echoed scream from his memory told me that he was here. I stiffened unsure of how to respond. Though the house told me about everyone, it didn't exactly tell me what their intentions were or anything like that. Even worse, I saw images of him putting a knife to the last teen who had tried to live here, attempting to give Violet company, and shook it out of my head. With a deep breath, I sat up. At least the house was quiet again.

"So, you know that we're all dead." It wasn't a question. Tate's face was blank as he stared at me then made his way around to the side of the bed while he went on. "You know that we're trapped here. And that Violet is alone."

Doing my best not to look suspicious, I backed away from him towards the other side of the bed just in case he might be planning a replay. "Violet's not alone, she has her family."

I jumped as he appeared directly in front of me the second I stood on the other side of the bed. "Yeah, she said that. I'm just here to make a point."

Each step he took towards me, I took another step back, until I found myself bumping into the concrete wall, my head bouncing off of it and causing a slight headache. Next, I felt the sharp edge of a blade press to my neck and held my breath.

"Don't try hurting Violet. If I see her hurt because of you—I don't care how bad," He pressed the blade in just enough to draw a thin line of blood, "You'll be joining us here."

I'll be honest, I don't know just how much of a threat that was supposed to be. I don't think he noticed how much I really loved being here. Regardless, I nodded, and watched as he backed away, vanishing again. Something about him felt so...familiar. I sorted through the whispers trying to pick out anything that would explain how I felt. _Ah..._

_You're a psychopath Tate, you can't feel real emotion. It's all just one big performance._

At that moment, he'd stopped crying and became serious. He'd shown his true, natural expression—pure apathy. I felt a bit guilty towards Violet as I rolled the memory of the house around in my head, finding myself more and more intrigued then pulled out my diary without hesitation.

Well, it was only half a diary. Mostly I just wrote about my experiences with different ghosts. Most of the beginning was about my mother, and how she'd trained me. But now, I found myself writing about everyone I had met so far, the odd way that they could be seen by the living, well, Moira at least, though she had hinted that everyone else could too. I wrote about how the house still hadn't run out of things to say, how so much had happened here over the years that it might never be quiet, and how it only silenced when one of the residents had made themselves known to me. Then, last but not least, I wrote about Tate, and the familiar feeling I'd felt from him. The familiar emptiness driven only by basic wants and needs.

I wondered why he had killed those students, if it was anything like why I had attacked Marie Waters or something completely different. Of course, he didn't get let off in an insanity plea and spend a couple years in a psyche ward. He didn't get the chance. _And _he actually knew what it was like, to feel death brought by his own hands. I didn't get to kill Marie. Had the teacher been a little bit later in finding us, I would have finished her off, but I didn't. Maybe that's what saved me from prison. I finished writing, feeling the last bit of inspiration pour out of me and closed the diary, putting it back in the drawer of my bedside table.

"Well, now that that's over, let's go take care of business." I said, mostly to myself, but fully aware that anyone else could be listening. I would never really be alone in this house, would I? I couldn't decide how I should feel about that.

I went to the master bedroom, knowing that my Dad had already set it up as his own, but also knowing that Vivian and Ben would be in here too. The moment I walked through the door, I knew I was right. I called out to them. Nothing happened.

"Mrs. Harmon? Mr. Harmon? I know you're here, I can feel you."

_I'm finding it really, really hard to look at your face right now, Ben._

"I get why you don't want us here, Thaddeus can be a handful. And I know Hayden's not the best person in the world, and neither are those Murder Fanatics, but I really like it here. I'm sure I can handle it by myself, I'm more than I look, you know. And my Dad knows a thing or two about keeping himself safe."

_I think you're weak._

Still neither of them said anything. I pictured them sitting there listening, giving each other questioning glances while they tried to pretend I couldn't sense them.

_Don't _Shrink _me._

"We're not like the other families, Mr. and Mrs. Harmon, you're not scaring us out of here, okay? Whether you want to talk to me or not, you'll at least believe me. Eventually." I sighed, looking around the room and lamely dropping my arms so that my hands clapped on my thighs and walked out. Well, it could have gone worse at least.

_For the first time, I think I finally feel happy._

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm<em> not the best person in the world?" Hayden suddenly shrieked, appearing in front of me halfway down the hall, hands on her hips and eyes flashing angrily.

"Hey, at least I didn't call you a bitch or anything." I held my hands up in mock surrender, but she only looked even more mad.

"I should kill you right now!"

I sighed. "Go away Hayden."

"You don't tell me what to do, you cheeky bitch." Really? She stepped forward and grabbed my shirt, lifting my body a good inch off of the ground. I didn't let it phase me, and amped up the strength in my Voice.

"_Go away Hayden."_

And she was gone, within seconds. With perfect timing I heard the door bell. I was sure it would be my tutor, though he was here a lot sooner than I had expected, and hurried down to let him in while I got ready. In a way I was kind of relieved to have an excuse to leave the house. I'd barely been here a week and had already met what I was sure could only be about half of the residents already, and still the house was whispering. As I got to the door, I felt a little disappointed. Before I had even touched the knob I knew it wasn't my tutor.

Her name was Constance, the house told me. Tate's mother, the sweet-voiced Virginian woman who was all but sweet. I peeked through the eye hole to see her fluffing her hair and holding a tray of sweets. _Don't trust the food,_the house told me directly, and I laughed to myself. Duly noted. I swung the door open with a smile, and said the normal introductions, invited her in, explaining that my father wasn't home.

"Oh, yes. You'll find that this house is quite special in it's own little way," she said cryptically, setting the tray of sweets down at the island and seating herself.

"Moira, fix me a coffee, you know how I like it."

"Of course, Ma'am." I noted the way Moira poised her self differently when Constance was around, and barely listened as Constance explained that she had once employed Moira herself.

"Yes, I've come to notice that." I said softly, grateful at Moira's presence. "It's alright, Mrs. Langdon you don't have to tip-toe around everything. I've already met at least half of my room mates already." I smiled, while her's faltered.

"I beg your pardon?"

I explained to her about the house, the whispers, the things that I saw. She visibly relaxed as I spoke, and in a way so did I. It was nice having a living person that I didn't have to hide anything from—I hadn't had that since my mother had died.

"So how is Micheal, anyway?" I asked.

"Micheal's just fine. Moody, and...unique...but as fine as a summer breeze."

I nodded absently. "And...my boy, Tate... is he, well?"

Oh God, how was I supposed to explain that to her?

_They're going great. Turns out I hate my mother. _

That was the last time she'd spoke to him, I was sure. So how was I supposed to explain his well being to her? _Don't try hurting Violet. _Well, I guess in a way he was better. I told her just that.

"He's found other things to focus on, I guess." I added, and she simply nodded.

* * *

><p>I wandered back into the house after Mr. Simmons dropped me off from my study session. It was only six o'clock but the sun was already setting. I had already slipped my sweater off by the time I made it to my bedroom door, stopping only when the house had silenced, and I turned to see Moira standing in the doorway to the dining room.<p>

"Your sessions took awfully long, Ms. Cherie. Would you like something to eat before you retire for the night?"

"Nah, I'm good Moira, but thanks anyway. I think I'm just going to go take a nap for a bit, and then I'll eat." I replied, leaning heavily in the doorway. I was half tempted to ask her to stay with me while I slept, if only for the silence, but I decided not to.

My bed felt so much softer than usual, probably due to how tired I was. I muttered a drowsy, 'Good night everyone', slipping my earphones in and turning up the music just before the Darkness drew me in entirely.

I didn't wake up until the next day. Images from my dreams lingered, a mix of all the different events in the house. It'd be a miracle if I remembered any of my studies with how much information the house seemed to be drilling into my head. I used to worry that I would simply become the house, and every memory inside of it, losing myself to its curse without having to die.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and rolled over. A jolt of fear went through me for a split second as I saw Tate standing at the side, looking down at me with an unreadable expression before stalking away and disappearing. Okay, so I was going to be getting used to a lot of new things. As soon as he'd gone, the house started whispering again, and I slipped out of the bed, got dressed, and went up stairs. It was still dark outside, probably early morning. I didn't bother looking at the clock.

When I got to the kitchen Moira was already in there, fixing a bowl of frosted flakes and setting it on the island. I climbed onto the stool.

"Thanks, Moira, how'd you know?" I smiled at her. The frosted flakes tasted like heaven.

"I figured from the amount of cereal your father had bought that they were a favorite of yours." She replied kindly, smiling to herself as she put the box away.

I munched on them for a bit, wondering whether or not Violet would be awake and if I could call her out.

"Oh we don't sleep here." Moira said simply.

"Nope, not a wink." I started again, the second time in the last ten minutes, and chuckled.

"Hopefully I get used to you all popping up randomly. If I don't I might have a heart attack." For the first time I heard Violet laugh, lightly, but it was still a laugh.

"So, I got to reading that book. Oh my God!"

I beamed proudly at the look on Violet's face as she went on to explain how Barron's was her favorite character at the time, and we argued. My favorite then had been V'lane for his obvious...well, I'll say charm. Plus, I was well aware of the end game, but as much as I wanted to tell her, I decided to let her figure it out on her own. It was nice having someone else read the book other than me, and that she was already nearly done with it made me feel pretty good.

"So, do you have the next book?" Violet asked, excited.

"Oh, honey," I mimicked Constance's southern belle accent, "I've got the whole series!"

Violet gave an awkward shiver-sigh and laughed. "I don't think I could ever get enough of this book."

I finished my bowl, drinking the milk out of it and placed it in the sink, to save Moira a few steps, then went ahead and walked with Vi down to the basement. It seemed like hours we lay there talking about it. Vi kept asking so many questions that it was hard for me not to tell her what really happened, and I ended up giving her cryptic possibly too-obvious answers instead. When she ran out of questions we just lay there in silence.

True silence. It was nice, having her there with me, keeping the house quiet without even realizing it. I could have laid there forever.

"Hey, Cherie?"

"Yes, Violet?"

We shared a grin, then she was serious again.

"Tate hasn't, like, tried to hurt you or anything has he?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed. "No, he didn't hurt me. He let me know not to hurt you, but that was it. He's pretty protective over you."

Why did it make me a little sad to admit that? It was probably just the residue of Tate's emotion, the ghost of emotion filling my empty shell and giving me something...almost human. I curled into a fetal position, trying my best to slow the dull hum in my chest. If it was Tate's emotions for her swarming around inside of me, then he wasn't like me at all. He felt true emotion. Or was everyone like us able to feel that way, and he only channeled it better? Convinced himself that his ghosted emotions were stronger?

That didn't even make any sense.

All at once the whispers came back full force. I didn't need to look to know that Violet was gone. I just reached back towards the side table and grabbed my phone and my earphones, blaring the music as loud as I could. I lost my self in Corey Taylor's stylized screams. Listening to him made me forget how badly I now wanted to scream. The drum lines helped me channel my snap of emotion and keep my hands around my knees rather than twisting in my hair and pulling until my scalp throbbed.

_'...Obsession, Take another look._

_Remember, Every chance you took...'_

I must have looked like the perfect definition of calm, sitting there like that. So relaxed. The only sign of tension was the slight tick in either wrists every few seconds. I tried my best to focus on what Corey was saying, on whatever message it seemed he was trying to get across, but my mind kept drifting back to those memories, those feelings...him. I couldn't get him out of my head.

* * *

><p>"<em>You <em>want _to understand me?"_

_At first I thought the music was getting quieter. The whispers had grown loud over the music, and they were different this time. It wasn't the house, with it's many memories and different voices. It was only one single voice cutting through the thrash metal in my ears. It was him. He was repeating the same phrase, over and over again._

"_You _want _to understand me?"_

_Hands, gentle but firm grabbed at my shoulders—caressed my arms. A cold body pressed to my back, enveloping me in his embrace. "You _want _to understand me?"_

_On reflex, my body molds to his. My head rests on his shoulder so that I can feel his blonde hair graze my cheek. His lips are so close to the curve of my neck. His breath is so cold. Those cold, gentle hands that press against me just so, slide from my arms to my waist, all power and sweetness. I can feel his lips move when he talks, brushing so slightly._

"_You _want _to understand me?"_

_My response bubbles out of me, like boiling water. A warm, satisfied hum of energy, all summed up in one breathy word._

"_Please."_

* * *

><p><em>'...Don't go.<em>

_I never wanted anybody more, _

_Than I wanted you._

_I know._

_The only thing I ever really loved..._

_Was hate...!'_

I pulled my knees in tighter as I continued to listen to the music. The lyrics drilling into my head. Could people like me feel guilt? Did we only feel the negative emotions, and simply mimic the rest? If that was true, that I was almost sure that I'd felt guilt that morning, as the light had begun to trickle through my tiny window in the basement. What would Violet think of me if she knew I was fantasizing about the one she called a monster? The one who had raped her own mother. He had even put a knife to my throat, the only time I'd ever spoke to him! For her!

And yet, something about the house...something in its stories it had told me over these past few weeks had given him a small place somewhere in my heart. I felt that if I kept listening, something would just...click.

* * *

><p>Over the next few days, nothing really happened. I met Beu, and sometimes played with him up in the attic. Thaddeus had made a few attempts, but Nora kept him at bay most of the time. As for Vivian and Ben, they still hadn't chose to acknowledge me. In a way I guess that was a good thing, they trusted that my father and I could manage ourselves. In the weeks that I'd been there though, I would spend most of my time in the basement reading whenever I wasn't out with my tutor. When no one was around—or visible at the very least—my father and I ended the charade, and went about our lives almost as though we didn't exist to each other.<p>

Isn't it funny? In my own house, I was noticed by the dead more than I was by the living. My closest friends were a victim of jealousy, and a suicidee. My high school crush was a murderer and a rapist; a psychopath that I couldn't get out of my head. I couldn't even tell my best, and only friend for fear that she'd reject me in the same way that she rejected him.

I took a bite of my toast and just chewed, half listening to the house, half listening to my music. In the background I was aware of the small-talk that my father was carrying with Moira as soon as the house was silent, while she started lining pumpkins along the dining room table and prepared them to be carved.

"Cherie!"

I jumped, the toast caught in my teeth as I looked up at my father, who smiled apologetically. "I was asking what you were dressing up as for Halloween?"

It took a moment to think. Moira had left the room, I knew she had noticed the difference between my father and I when she was and wasn't around. I think something about our charade had unsettled her, so she left to keep us from forcing the effort. Sifting through what the house was saying, the perfect thought found its way to the forefront of my mind. An image, really. I dropped my innocent thoughtful expression and just stared at my father.

I put it short. "Dia de Los Muertos."

"Well that's...cute." _And fitting._

His unsaid remark hung in the air like the thick, moldy smell I'd grown so accustomed to. I just smiled and left the room, going back down to the basement where I would figure out how exactly how I wanted to do my make-up with the glorious help of Google, and Vi.

I called out to her the second I flipped open my laptop open, and we went through page after page trying to find the perfect one. I got the feeling that Violet never got a lot of girl to girl time when she was alive. We sat and giggled over which one was cuter, which one seemed more cool and tough looking, going through several pages until we were bored.

I rolled over onto my stomach and put my head in my arms. My heart raced but I couldn't handle the curiosity anymore. I hadn't seen Tate but twice since I came here, but everywhere I went I could feel him. I had to tell someone. "Violet? Can I ask you a really touchy question?"

"Sure, what's up?"

For a moment, I just looked at her. My best friend, dead as she was, the smile on her face as though she had completely forgotten everything that she'd gone through with him. Everything he'd done to her..._for _her. Although a part of me wretched at how she'd taken his kindness for granted, I still felt that guilt inside of me choke out whatever questions I might have pieced together with his name.

I forced a smile. "Do you think I should wear a dress, or a suit with it?"

* * *

><p><strong>Let me know what you think okay? I tried to make it a bit more different than a few of the others I've seen, and I really wanted to make it more of a continuation of the show than anything. Any ideas? Let me know. Anything rushed or repeated to much? DEFINITELY tell me about that, I do my best not to but it kind of slips out anyway. Thanks! Chapter Two will be coming eventually!<strong>


	2. Inner Psychotics

"_A long time ago, Darkness found its way into my heart. It must have been when I was very little, because I don't remember how it got there. But over the years it's grown, consuming me. I've only tamed it with sanity—rational thinking. If I do this, then that will happen. If I go here, then this will be there. If I hurt her, then _I_ will suffer the consequences. Only in my mind can I enjoy the darkness, and sink into its comfort. Only in fantasy can I embrace it. I'm afraid that one day, rationality will lose it's hold, and that I'll be too wrapped up in the sweet intoxication of the darkness to consider what might happen. I'm afraid I'll lose my last shred of humanity."_

_-CL 11-8-11_

* * *

><p>"<em>So save today, the secret's that you prayed for.<br>And wait, _

_'Cause we deserve it so much more.  
>So save, the secret's that your prayed for, <em>

_Awake.  
>I'll see you on the other side."<em>

The song didn't flow too well with my grunting as Violet helped me put on my black corset. By the time she'd finished, just short of me seeing spots, I was smoothing down the white skirt underneath. The short skirt itself had red flowers in an asymmetrical trail off to the side that matched the single red flower in my hair. I picked a piece of lint from my black sweater leggings and straightened my arm-length gloves.

"Are you sure you don't want to dress up at all?" I asked, pushing my hair behind my ears.

She laughed, giving a twirl in the simple white sundress, topped with her own sweater leggings and a thin long sleeve. "I'm already dressed up, I'm a ghost!"

I smiled back and rolled my eyes. In a way I felt kind of ridiculous dressing up so much compared to her, but I guess it didn't matter. As long as she had fun on the one night that she was allowed out. We sat on the bed for a moment in silence, listening to the song as it ended, switching into the next one on the album.

"Thanks for being here, Cherie. I don't know how you managed to convince my parents to back off, but they did." She said after a moment, then did a nervous kind of grin, where she kind of breathed out awkwardly when she did it, "Besides, I _really_ didn't want to have to walk around by myself again."

I let that sink in for a moment. She had never really walked around alone on Halloween, but I guess she wasn't aware of that. Everywhere she'd gone every year, I knew Tate had been right there behind her, protecting her even in death. In a way I felt a little envious, though I knew I shouldn't. I didn't even know him, not personally. I only knew what the house had told me.

_'Sweet-heart, a house will never lie to you. It may confuse you, and it may take you awhile to know who felt what, but never once will it lie. If there's anything you can trust about yourself, it's that.' _My mother's voice echoed in my memory, but what that had to do with anything I didn't know. I guess it was just one of those thoughts that come up at random. Then I remembered the rest of what Violet said, and realized that I'd been quiet for too long.

Quickly, I twisted my lips into an empathetic smile, "No problem, I'm happy to be here. Who knows, maybe they just got tired of scaring everyone out and finally decided to take a break."

_Why did I only notice the smiles?_

* * *

><p><em>People just want to blame their problems on their crazy mothers; They want to feel special.<em>

_Sound familiar, Tate?_

We left early, long before it would get dark, and simply walked around the town doing things that most normal girls would do at our age. It was strange how they had been through so much together and yet she wasn't aware of how close he was, where as I could practically feel him sifting through the crowds of Los Angeles. My breath hitched every time I caught sight of him in the corner of my eye. How had she not seen him?

Maybe she did see him. That would explain a lot, especially how she felt towards him. If she knew that he was there the whole time—if she'd _known_ the entire time—then the part of her that still loved him must have been holding onto what little connection they still had. Maybe I wasn't the only one avidly watching for each glimpse of him that I could.

_What I wanted was you..._

With this thought, I decided to watch her more closely, more out of curiosity then anything. Were she still interested I would surely back off, after all I cared about her. Being the closest person to me in so long, I would kill for her.

_Come and let me say goodbye._

Every time we lapsed into a silence I found myself drowning in senseless questions. Did she really let go of him the way she said she did? Or did a part of her still love him somewhere deep down? God, why did I even care? The only thing that I couldn't stand about that place was that all I could think about was Violet and Tate, Tate and Violet, Tate...Tate...Tate... The house was poisoning me with an unhealthy obsession with someone who wasn't even alive!

I gnawed on the plastic straw in my mocha, and tried to focus on what Violet was saying, but that was hard to do when he was right in my field of vision. He had positioned himself inside of the cafe in one of the booths in the far back, while Vi and I sat at the outdoor tables, despite the snow that had gathered around us. I was watching him, watching her. His expression was emotionless, his dark eyes even colder than where we sat. It made my heart flutter.

Nothing crossed my mind when I stood up and walked over to him, leaving Violet still talking behind me. Well, she'd probably stopped now. She was probably even watching me, confused as I walked toward him, placing my hand lightly on his jaw to guide his attention away from her. I didn't ask or hesitate as I pressed my lips against his, grateful that he was returning it, so softly.

The kiss gradually got harder, more demanding. I could barely hear Violet crying at me over the sound of our heavy breathing. I didn't care. In the split second that our lips separated, I was vaguely aware of the glint of metal.

"What are you doing?!"

Something told me that she was hysterical, gripping onto the back of her chair as she watched us in horror. "What do you think you're doing, Cherie? What's wrong with you?!"

Was that my blood or his blood in my mouth? In confusion, I pulled away from him and looked down. The switch-blade was dug to the hilt in my stomach. My hand felt around it lamely, as though I might somehow find a way to fix myself. When I looked back up, his eyes were still set in that cold, stoney glare.

"Cherie?!"

"I told you not to hurt her." He growled, his lip curling slightly in disgust as he looked me over and tossed my body from the blade.

I started as Violet tapped my forehead, looking at me curiously. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

She nodded pointedly to the way that I had awkwardly hooked one of my incisors into my straw and was now leaning on it in a daze. I tried to pass it off with a chuckle, but that only earned me an even more concerned look from my friend. "Uhm, it's a weird spacey thing that I do, kind of like how some people bite their nails. I, well...I stuff my teeth into straws."

I silently begged her to just ignore it, instead of looking to see why I had spaced out, which thankfully she didn't. With a shrug she repeated what she'd said before. I listened more intently, doing my best not to look at Tate. The one time I let slip, I noticed that he'd glanced at me as well, a confused frown twisted into his features as he shifted.

* * *

><p>By the time it was dark Violet and I had wandered into a random neighborhood, ambling up and down random streets, trusting that we'd be able to find our own way home. It was getting to be around midnight, and though I was tired and really wanted to head back, I wasn't about to cheat Violet out of what few hours she got to feel normal again. A lot of the houses by now were dark, the happily families asleep or picking through their children's candy to make sure that it was safe for the next day.<p>

The next street we turned at was different. A large house at the end of it was illuminated like a beacon. The music was so loud that we could hear the faint bass from where we were, and drunken teens stumbled in and out. We both looked at each other, Violet letting out an excited 'Cool!' before we hurried towards the party.

"You know, I never got to try alcohol when I was alive. You think it'd have the same effect if I'm dead?" She asked, her voice breathy and clipped with each energetic step she took.

"I don't know, let's go find out!"

Though I sounded excited, a part of me was worried. Violet didn't even eat real food anymore, let alone drink anything. I kept having flashes of images of her vomiting uncontrollably the second the liquid touched her lips, or convulsing, or even dying _again._ In that way, I was doubly glad that Tate was close-by, on the off chance that food and drink for the living might hurt her. He could stop her before she did anything, if he knew. Or be there to help if he didn't.

Violet slowed her pace when we got close to the house, causing me to match her by reflex. It felt silly to be wandering by as if we were spying on them, trying to figure out how best to join the others without seeming like the odd one out. She leaned over and whispered to me, but I couldn't hear her over the music, even from outside.

"Do we just go inside?" She said louder.

"I don't know, maybe we shoul-," I was cut off by a loud wolf whistle from one of the guys n the doorway, holding a beer in each hand.

"Hey, girls. If you wanna jump in you better do it now! The beers almost gone!" He called wiggling his eyebrows at Violet and me before he was shoved back inside roughly by some of his guy friends. Sharing a grin, we followed his advice.

The music wasn't completely terrible. It was a mix of dub-step and techno that I was sure would sound better once we were a few beers in. I plucked two out of the cooler and passed one to Vi, looking around in the hopes of seeing Tate somewhere close by. At the moment, he was very well hidden, maybe even outside. After she finally managed to twist the cap off of her own beer, we clinked them together in a lame toast.

"To Halloween!" We cried, and threw our heads back.

The taste was smoother to me than I remembered it being. Well, I had drank beer before...once. Violet on the other hand spit it out, giving me a curious look. "How do you drink this stuff? It tastes like shit!"

I just laughed, relieved that she hadn't started puking yet, "Keep drinking, it'll taste better."

I loved being right. In the next hour we ended up drinking almost three more beers. Despite my drunken state I still made sure to keep an eye on her for any stray twitches that might signal any bad events.

You would have been surprised to see a house like that, still so packed at such a late hour. It was a mad-house! We were pretty much bumping into people every step we took. And the more we drank the better we thought we were dancing, although I wouldn't be surprised if we were actually making ourselves look like idiots more than anything. Violet even danced with a few guys. Did she feel guilty dancing with them, knowing he was watching? Was she still going through the whole process of letting go? I cautiously eyed her while taking another sip of my beer.

_Focus on the music, Cher. _I had to physically steer my thoughts away from Violet and Tate. With the help of my current dance partner I shook my mind blank. Every twirl, every drunkenly exaggerated and ill-timed dip and shimmy kept me in reality. This guy was funny, and sweet. He wasn't too bad on the eyes either. Who's to say I couldn't learn his name and even go on a proper date one day soon?

_Probably the poison in your veins laced with T-A-T-E, _a part of me giggled.

Out of the corner of my eye I glanced at Violet again, just in time to see her spin lazily into a girl. She almost lost her footing, knocking the girls solo cup from her hand.

"Hey, watch it bitch!" The girl shrieked, shoving Violet in the shoulder.

Violet wasn't phased, she just stopped, looking at the girl with the most repulsed look she could manage. "Like I was supposed to know you were behind me, Snookie." She scoffed, trying to turn around and dance some more.

"It's Paris Hilton, you little _bitch!"_

Was that the only cuss word this girl knew? She shoved Violet again, but at this point I had already made my way over and stood between them. Her face was twisted in an ugly snarl as she looked over her newest obstacle. I on the other hand couldn't bring myself to look at the cheap mini-skirt and stuffed toy dog she'd stuck in her too big handbag. "Who the fuck are you?"

I didn't respond right away. I sighed, then looked up at her and smiled. "You know, I really hate the word _bitch_." I spat. You could barely hear me over the music.

"Oh, well doesn't that just suck," 'Paris Hilton' said sickly sweet as she stepped closer, almost touching me. She craned her neck just a little to accommodate to the added height my heels gave me. Thankfully, I was already coming down from the alcohol, and didn't sway from her, even when she spit in my face when she spoke. "Bitch."

And then I snapped. Before she could back away from me, I grabbed her by the back of her hair and twisted it in my hand. The way she cried out in pain and collapsed onto her knees made the sadistic part of me purr. I knelt down with her. Though she was on both knees, I was more crouched, my other hand resting on my leg as I turned on my toes so that she could see Violet clearly.

"Violet, it seems that 'Paris Hilton' has been pretty rude. Do you think she should—," I shook the girl for emphasis, for pleasure, and looked to Violet, "—apologize?"

Violet didn't seem too feel the same way that I did. For whatever reason, I had expected her to be grinning in triumph, condescendingly shaking her head and I laid into the useless waste in my hand. Her expression was far from triumphant. I froze for a second, taking in the way her hands were slowly winding into her own hair.

_I thought you weren't afraid of anything._

Oh shit. What did I just do?

_I don't ever want to see you again!_

Abruptly I let go of the girl and stood back up. "Vi, I'm sorry, I just kind of, snapped. I didn't mean to remind you of anything bad I just—."

"I need to be alone for a little bit," Violet explained quickly before running out of the house.

I followed her. Sometimes, when you act as a certain person for so long, you can't stop. I'm sure you've heard of how actor's would get stuck even when the camera's stopped rolling. It's the same for people like me. I have a personal theory that only the best actors can play psychopaths, because they are. It was in this way that I got stuck, chasing after the friend of Lonely, Sweet, Cherie Levin's while her voice roared out of me.

"Violet!"

Was it safe to leave her alone right now? I wondered if she could be hurt like anyone else on Halloween, or what would happen if she didn't make it back to the house before sunrise. From what I'd seen, they were just like the living on that day, as far as being limited to the same mobility. Damn it! What the hell had I been thinking?

I didn't need to go after her. With her gone, Tate would no longer be distracted. And what better ending could I imagine than the one that _she _had rejected? But then, I knew that Tate would hate me if I abandoned her. Most likely, he already hated me for reminding her of...heh...for reminding her of _him. _No, I wouldn't veer off course. I barely had a sliver of a chance if he meant to own up to his threat, and I definitely didn't want to die outside of that house.

I pushed harder, until all I could hear was my heart beat...or my feet on the pavement...or his feet close by...I couldn't tell. If I didn't find her something might actually happen to her, and I didn't know if that part of me could handle it. There was still a slight chance that Lonely Sweet Cherie wasn't a concoction of a sick mind. I called for her again. It sounded different this time, deeper. It was almost as if I'd screamed myself hoarse.

"Violet!"

No, that definitely wasn't me. For a moment I refused to let the thought cross my mind, but it was useless. The second my mind realized that he was close by it kicked into hyper-speed, and all of the different parts of me started warring against how to treat my new found predicament. Obviously, he genuinely cared about her, or he wouldn't have been here in the first place. He could help me find her. She could help me win him over. If I looked just frantic enough he might fall for me, little by little. It could start a beautiful path down a beautiful road in life that lead to death.

Society would have found me so sickening I'm sure.

I didn't want him to fall for another character tucked away in my psychotic theatre though. I wanted him to fall for the same me that was so much like him. I wanted to comfort him in the way that Violet never would, and make him forget everything he'd been through. I wanted to find Violet before someone or something else did.

All of this thoughts bounced off of each other inside my head in less than a few seconds.

"Tate, surely you know where she might have gone!" I yelled, my voice conveying only the honest mild worry that had nestled in the chest of Lonely Sweet Cherie. I could see him thinking for a moment from where he was on the other side of the street, just barely ahead of me.

Then finally, "This way!" As he took a sudden turn and I barely had enough time to catch up to him.

* * *

><p>I recognized the beach immediately from one of my dreams the past few nights. This was where he'd taken her on their first date. Where she'd seen first hand what he'd done to get himself killed. Sure enough there she was curled up at the edge of the ocean. One he'd reached the part of the ground that gave way to a three foot drop and sand, he stopped, backing up just a little so as to stay out of sight. In very much the same way as me, I could see him battling with himself for what to do, trying to decide how he wanted to appear to her. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes for a moment, then pressed them onto his forehead as he paced for a moment.<p>

Every expression he made, seemed to twist his features regardless of the emotion it was meant to portray. I heard him breathe in deep through his teeth, and simply watched, fascinated, waiting to see what he decided. Then he was nodding, agreeing with himself as he rubbed his hand across his face resolutely.

"You have to go out there, you have to comfort her. If she sees me and knows that I followed her...she can't...she just can't."

_I'll wait...Forever if I have to._

I let the silence hang for a moment, then obediently walked away, as though I'd been walking alone the whole time, and had just stumbled across the area.

"_This is good. You're 'last shred of humanity' is intact, you haven't acted on anything, and there is resistance. Cherie look at me." _

I took a deep breath when I reached her, ignoring my own memory and kneeling down to sit beside her in silence. The psychiatrist from my old ward kept surfacing in my mind. It made it harder to try to talk to her when I couldn't even think straight at the moment.

"_You haven't broken yet. You're not a psychopath, just a confused little girl who doesn't know which way to go. It's okay."_

Violet wiped her eyes and leaned on my shoulder. "I'm okay, really. It just...reminded me...of something."

"The girl in the basement, the one that Thaddeus attacked." It wasn't a guess. I could feel the memory practically replaying from her without even being in the house, just like with Tate a moment ago. It was like they were carrying a part of the house with them. She nodded, and I lifted my hand to smooth her hair in the same way that I'd seen other girls comfort their friends at school.

She sobbed harder for a moment. "I should have realized it then, Cherie. I should have taken the hint and stayed away from him, but I didn't. And now I'm stuck like this—_Dead!—_because of _him!_"

As much as I wanted to believe that I cared about Violet, her words cut through me like a knife and went straight to him. I knew he had heard her, and was hurt by what she'd said. A part of me cried for him, having to hear her say something so horrible, but all I could do was sit there, and keep smoothing her hair. I didn't know what to say. Or maybe I just didn't want to say anything at all. After all, a psychopath is methodical, and charismatic. A psychopath can manipulate those around them without even really trying.

And a part of me, really, really wanted her to hate him.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, I kept the length and didn't add anymore to the actual story just because it took me just as long to finish fleshing it out as it did to write the shell from before. Again, I apologize for having posted this without properly going over it, and I'll do my best to keep from doing that again. Now, I am off to bed. Please review and the what nots! Let me know if anything came out over-played or too bland, or to repetitive etc. Thanks!<strong>


	3. Coersion

"Corey...I need to hear Corey Taylor...I need my music." I kept muttering to myself as I crawled across my bed, reaching for my earphones. I couldn't stand this warring of emotions inside of me. At some point I was sure that I would explode and every different part of me would separate, leaving my original self—if that even existed—an obliterated, bloody mess. My only hope of grasping onto any sort of sanity was to hear some sort of music, something to take my mind away from the madness. Temporary as it may have been.

_Why would you bother distracting yourself, when you have the perfect romance right here in this house?_

"Shut up!"

I flipped through my songs frantically until I found the perfect one, turning the volume as high as possible. My hands were halfway to my ear when I looked up to see Violet's shocked face staring at me in confusion. Only then did I realize that she'd been talking, raving happily about the better parts of the night as though our episode had never happened. I swallowed.

"N-not you Vi..Violet...I feel," I took a deep breath to calm my nerves before I really did combust, "Unstable."

I couldn't look at her. I was afraid that she might see the guilt in my eyes. "I just need to calm down with some music for a bit."

"I get it," She smiled sympathetically, plucking at a stray thread in my blanket, "I keep forgetting that you need sleep. Heh, I haven't sleep in years so...yeah. I'm sorry."

I returned her smile, "Thanks for understanding."

Not a second before she vanished, I lost myself in my music. Automatically I found my knees curling into my chest while the music comforted me. My arms held them tighter to me in order to repress the irrational, sure to be racketing, sobs. My eyes closed.

_Voices, _

_Speaking clearly yet undefined,_

_There's so many choices,_

_Everyday is like wasting time,_

_Lay down,_

_Let me love you one more time,_

_Apathy is a virtue in my mind._

'Apathy is a virtue in my mind.' That phrase meant so much to me. For someone of my kind who truly had an inescapable apathy, I longed to know true emotion. Not obsession, but love. I didn't want to live my life, obsessed with the idea of a guy like I was going to end up in some damned fairy tale. I wanted to fall in love with a live, normal, human; to grow old and have babies and grandbabies; to die sleeping in my husbands arms when I was well into my nineties.

Apparently, Life didn't agree with me. Neither did the house.

I felt that horrible emptiness start to sink back into me. Were I alone, I would have slammed myself into the bed and allowed myself a small fit of senseless screaming to lose control of my emotions just for a little bit. But the others in the house could be anywhere, and I wouldn't know unless they appeared. I would be risking someone seeing me at my craziest, and _that_ I couldn't handle.

No matter how hard I tried to shove it down, it pushed its way up anyways like an ever inflating hot air balloon. So I gave up. I kicked off my heels, put on my sneakers, and ran. Out of the basement, out of the house, off the property, down the street. I ran until my lungs burned and I couldn't focus, and I kept running. Anything to keep my mind off of that place, off of

Violet and Tate.

Tate and Violet.

Tate.

Tate.

"Shut up." I said again. My head kept reeling through the images, the memories of the house, and I shook it hoping to knock them out of me. It kind of worked.

In two seconds flat I managed to trip on my own shoes, lose sight of who was in front of me, fall dramatically and take down a hostage during the fall. My head ached from reverberating off of the concrete of the sidewalk. Clumsily I lifted myself up, and slowly. One arm first. Then I shifted my weight so that I could stand properly. I noted, embarrassed, that one of my legs had sprawled across the legs of my victim and I was still wearing my costume with its short skirt.

"I'm so sorry," I finally remembered to say, smoothing my skirt and tugging it a little further down as though it might save some of my decency. I smiled apologetically and went to go around him, but he stepped just enough in my way that I couldn't go without shoving passed him.

"You look like you're running away from something, can I help you with anything?" He had a handsome grin. His mouth was wide, his lips were full, set in smooth, pearl white skin. He almost looked albino except for...oh...his _eyes. _They were a gorgeous ice blue framed by snow-white hair despite his clearly young age. He couldn't have been older than twenty at least.

He chuckled, soft and smooth. "I take it you don't want to talk about it then? I can take a hint."

I felt like a nerd, blushing the way I did when he did a very old-fashioned half bow and stepped over to the side. "I...I'm so sorry. I just—I...what in the hell is wrong with me?"

A rush of reality hit me. I pressed my palm to my forehead trying to think but for some reason I couldn't form a sentence.

"Would you like my diagnoses?" He asked, raising a brow, still frozen in the state of an eighteen hundreds gentleman. I just stared t him until he relaxed. "I would say that when you hit your head, you lost all capability of speech aside from 'I'm sorry' and will only occasionally come to."

It was such a lame, dorky joke, and yet for the first time in a long time I felt a _genuine _laugh bubble out of me. I felt almost human for a moment. When I finally calmed down I stuck my hand out.

"I'm Cherie. I'm new to the neighborhood." Oh wow, he was warmer than I expected, with such a firm grip too.

Again, I got lost in his eyes as they crinkled with his grin. "I'm Liam. I know the area pretty well if you'd like me to show you around."

* * *

><p>"So what <em>were <em>you doing before you ran into me?" Liam asked, his ever present cocky grin stretched across his face. We walked lazily through the park, the supposedly last stop before I finally headed back home and passed out. I say supposedly because we'd had about two or three other 'last stops' before he gave a last second 'Oh wait, one more place' and drug me off to the next place. Despite my exhaustion though, it was pretty fun, being with someone alive and that didn't remind me of that house.

I gave a nervous laugh, doing my best to relax without seeming too crazy, "Stress running?"

Something about him seemed so trustworthy and accepting. It could've be worth it to get to know him better. I might even be able to act how I wanted to around him someday. Then again, those were some pretty high hopes for having just met. Still, I like to think that I've got a good sense about people. Although, I would never trust someone fully until I'd been in their house. The house never lies.

He clicked his tongue, one single, loud _snick. _"Ahh..I see. Things got too bad at home, so you just ran to get away for a bit? That makes sense." Though he have a thoughtful nod, I found myself slightly unnerved at how nearly accurate he was. I shrugged it off.

"Yes, actually. Ho—," I yawned, "—ow yid oo hoo?"

I blushed, about to correct my horribly impaired speech when he answered anyway.

"I used to do the same thing. Then I grew up, moved out, and it seemed like everything just reset to the way it should have been." He gave me a sly grin, leaning down by consequence of our height difference, "That was adorable by the way."

My heart skipped. So this was how normal people flirted? I wasn't used to it, and had absolutely no response to him. For once I actually _felt _something—a strong unexplainable...vibration. It was warm and comforting. It was the way that I imagined a normal girl would feel when _she _had a crush on someone; a healthy crush that is. I wanted more of it...

"Thank you," I muttered, reminding myself to at least recognize the compliment even if I couldn't bring myself to look at him. We walked along in silence for a bit after that, and then I yawned again. This was when he finally turned around and started to head back the way we'd came.

"Alright, alright. I told you I can take a hint," He winked, his easy smile slipping into a quick flash of teeth for a split second, "Let's get you home."

On the way home I explained how I hadn't slept at all that night, having been out until sunrise 'with a friend'. I felt that odd vibration again when he ended up asking if I was dating my 'friend'. I went on to tell him that no, I was not dating my friend, she was a girl, and really, I wasn't dating anyone. That didn't sound weird to say did it? To just, tell him something like that without him asking? Damn, why didn't I pay attention when I saw girls normal girls flirting? I didn't know how to act at all. I was at a loss of responses.

Thankfully, we came to the gate in front of my house and I didn't have to worry about it. If it phased him at all that I lived in the notorious Murder House, he didn't show it. Surprisingly he lingered for a moment, quietly, though I had expected a quick goodbye and awkward run home.

"There's something I really want to tell you, Cherie." He started. The tone of his voice was like he was asking permission.

"...yes?"

"I knew you hadn't slept almost at all, at least, I was almost sure of it. I kept you out for so long because I thought you were interesting. I was wondering, if you might like to go on a real date with me after this? Maybe, one where I could see what you look like underneath all of that make-up?"

Vibrations cause heat the faster they are, and I was about to combust. I could hardly manage more than a gaping, fish out of water motion because of it. It took quite a bit of effort just to nod. Once I started the motion I couldn't stop it, shaking my head up and down excitedly.

"Yes, I mean uh...yeah. Sure, I would love that." I couldn't help leaning into the gate when he gave me the broadest, most relieved, and gorgeous smile he'd had all evening. I wondered if he ever stopped smiling.

"Great! How about tomorrow at nine?"

I just kept nodding, my own dumb smile plastered on my face as he said goodbye. I vaguely remember answering before pushing the gate open and going inside. The whispers didn't bother me for once—I didn't need my music or anything. I just lay on my bed, clutching my pillow to me as tight as I could. Not even minutes after I sat there wishing for something like this to happen...and it had. All that I needed to do know was wait, get to know him, and go to his house just once. Then I could decide if I really could love him.

Mostly, I was just happy that I had a crush on someone, and didn't have to keep thinking about Tate at all. The name didn't even give me that sinking guilty feeling that it usually did when I thought about it.

I was _happy_.

_We psychopaths have a tendency to latch, don't we?_

* * *

><p><em>Hands. Feeling, roaming, caressing...A body, pressing hard against mine, pushing me down into my mattress. I breathe in, I sigh. Lips find mine, kissing me hard. Demanding. Needing. My hands, reaching up; Feeling, roaming, caressing... I whimper, one soft uncontrollable sound. He's nestled on top of me, my legs parted around his waist. <em>

_At my sound, he pulls back. I finally open my eyes, confused. Then I remember: He's the one that I've wanted more than anyone. He's like me. The only one who could ever understand me. The house is right... I need him. _

* * *

><p>When I woke up, I was horribly confused. I tried desperately to hold on to that feeling that Liam had given me, but it slipped through my fingers like smoke. Again I felt that odd surge of curiosity and longing, my mind determined to focus on Tate, though Violet had kept to herself the past while. The whispers seemed louder now, more insisting. They focused more in Tate as well. Only occasionally did they mention Thaddeus, but no one else.<p>

I lay there awake, listening as the house recounted the events the night Vivian was raped, showing me snippets of Tate in that rubber suit. It molded to his body so nicely. I know it was wrong, but the sick part of me that I tried to quiet started to envy Vivian. She was given the most beautiful child from that experience.

Absently I rubbed my own belly and thought. A child...that sounded wonderful.

* * *

><p><strong>Not much by far compared to my other chapters I just wanted to show that I <em>am <em>working on the story and I promise the next one will be waaaaay longer it just might be awhile. Now that I've finally figured out my ultimate plot (ooo that sounds so evil. *rubs hands together evilly* mufufufu...) I'm having a bit of writers block trying to execute _that_ instead of shoving Tate directly into Cherie's bed as soon as possible, lol. I'll post again as soon as I get everything figured out. In the meantime, can you guess who Liam is? I'll give you a hint: He's going to be around four awhile. :)**

**Btw, if its too cheesy let me know. I realize its starting to take a bit of an odd turn but I promise its going in a certain direction. I plan on bringing Hayden and Constance in more next chapter too. Thanks!**


	4. Fatherly Love

Four.

* * *

><p>"<em>So this is the coke whore."<em>

_ I grin, watching his performance from my spot by the door. Somehow, this feels familiar but I don't know why. I bristle as she shoots back a lame 'Who the hell are you?' before obediantly shutting off the lights._

_A shiver runs down my spine as I watch him act as crazy as I knew he was. The lights flicker despite how I turned them off, and his laughter rings in my ears. When Thaddeus grabs him from behind I don't scream, I know it's all part of the act. The Whore is dragged onto the ground in the end, panicking. _

_My laughter joins his._

_When I feel like she's had enough, I turn the lights back on, causing Thaddeus to cower back into the shadows of his hidden room, and watch smugly as she quivers, looking around frantically before bolting from the room. I turn to Tate, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed._

"_I'd say a job well done, yeah?"_

_My smile is slow, and I wrap my arms around him. He leans down to my height. Our foreheads meet; Our eyes are boring into each other. I kiss him, lightly. "Oh...my hero."_

_That's how things should have gone for him. It's what he wanted; What _I _want for him. _

_What Violet would never give him._

* * *

><p>"Oh my Jesus, honey. Will you stop yammering about that little freak for two seconds?"<p>

I jump awake and sit up to see Chad standing beside me with his arms crossed. He flicks a finger through his bangs and rolls his eyes. "Well thank god you finally woke up. Seriously, Tate Langdon? You know what he did sweetheart, so what the hell do you think you're going to achieve getting with a _dead guy _like him? Do you think you can change him or something?"

"I...I don't know what you're talking about. I barely even know Tate, how could I like him?" Oh god, if he heard me, Violet heard me. What would Violet do if she knew how I felt about Tate? She'd hate me...

"You don't have to act stupid, Violets sulking in the study reading books or whatever." He said grinning, walking around my room and picking up random objects. "I can't believe you chose the basement of all places. And the décor," He grimaced, "Ugh. You've ruined my house."

"So you came in here to wake me up and complain about how I talk in my sleep?" At this he dropped my rubix cube, his hand limped while he rolled his head around with a cocky smile on his face.

"_No_, I just happened to hear you. Again. You do this a lot you know, and almost everyone knows about how you feel _except _for Violet and a few other nobodies." My heart skipped. Did that mean that Tate knew? I could barely manage a few words before he was talking again, seating himself beside me on the bed the way a mother would before kissing her child goodnight. He whispered, "I'm just trying to save you from yourself."

I narrowed my eyes at him. The point he was trying to make was sinking in. "You're not saving me from anything."

He just clicked his tongue. "Oh I am, Lydia. Trust me. You'll look back at this conversation and be thinking, 'Damn I wish I'd listened to Chad when I had the chance. Now look at me. I'm _dead_.' He raped her mother, I know you know that."

"For _Nora_."

Chad let out a baffled scoff, his voice dripping sarcasm. "'For Nora'. So he _was _trying to be a hero!"

"It wasn't even rape. You can't willingly have sex with someone and decide it was by force. Mistaken sex, yes, but there was no rape. And he did it to comfort Nora. You wanted the baby yourself when you thought you had a chance with Patrick, you should have thanked him." I kept my eyes level with his, trying to keep my emotions in check. No way was I going to let this asshole ruin my day from the start. Wait...why did I even care? I didn't _know _Tate personally, so why was I going out of my way to defend him?

Chad just shook his head slowly from side to side. "Poor little Goth girl...he's got you're head aaaall twisted, and he doesn't even have to try, does he?"

And then he was gone.

* * *

><p>I blushed. Now that the lights were coming on in the theatre I could see Liam looking down at me. His eyes were all sweet emotion. It felt nice. I could pretend that I was normal for a couple of hours. I sat up and pushed my hair back behind my ears before finally standing and following him out of the room. Thankfully, now that I was out of that house, Tate was the furthest thing from my mind. It made me dread the idea of going back. The longer I spent in there, the worse the poison effected my mind. I glanced at Liam and smiled...he was the closest thing that I had to an antidote right now. He made me okay again.<p>

"You okay? You're not scared are you?" He teased, nudging me with his elbow. I gripped his arm a little tighter.

"_Ouja? _Oh god no," I laughed. "I still remember the original from when I was little. Have you seen it?"

"Honestly, no. My mother wouldn't let me watch that kind of stuff when I was little. She was afraid I'd actually try it." He gave an embarrassed grin. A little part of me lit up, he was sharing with me about his life.

I got to bask in the moment a little bit while he ordered us something to eat at the snack bar and brought it over to the cafe table we'd seated ourselves at.

"Tell me more about your mother." I asked eagerly when he got back.

He scratched his neck awkwardly. "I'd really rather not talk about her right now, it's uh...not really first date material... Oh but there is something I wanted to show you!"

One had to admire the way he could change the mood in an instant. What little melancholic atmosphere had been there quickly dissipated as he leaned in, his index finger and thumb lifted to his eyes. I watched him in slight confusion.

"Are you ready?"

I nodded.

He stuck his fingers in his eyes, directly in the center of each one and I realized he was taking out his contacts. I hadn't even realized that he was wearing any until he took them out. Then I froze, watching him in awe as he blinked a few times and stared directly into my own eyes from only an inch or two away from my face.

"So...you're mother's not first date material...but revealing the fact that you're secretly albino is? She must have been pretty bad!" I chuckled a little bit trying to keep the mood light, but I kept getting lost in his excited grin, and the intensity of his...pink eyed stare.

"I think of it as like a first date test. When I really like a girl I just...take out the contacts and see how she reacts. It's probably the quickest way I've found so far to get to know someone, other than holding them over a volcano like Shan Yu suggests." His face was so animate when he was talking. His eyes made all of his expressions seem so much more dramatic.

"And what have you learned about me?" My voice sounded different, but I didn't know why. It felt like someone had their hand wrapped around my heart and was lightly squeezing it.

"Everything that I need to know."

I don't know if I whimpered because he closed his eyes, or because of how soft his lips felt against mine. They were so gentle and sweet. His hand weaved into my hair and held me close, even after he broke the kiss, and he rested his forehead against mine. I did my best to keep from thinking back to my dream, but flashes of it still crossed through my mind.

"I think I like you Cherie. A lot."

"I think I like you, too, Liam." I kissed him again, enjoying the way he rubbed his thumbs over my wrist when he held my hand. "I don't want to go back _home_. I want to stay with you just a little longer."

Liam pet the back of my hair with the hand that was still wound in it, his excited smile dulled down to a sweet smirk. "What you're dad think? Not to mention it's only our first date, you know. I can't exactly take you home with me."

"I know..." I sighed. "My dad wouldn't give a shit anyway though, he just acts like he does."

His face was sympathetic. "I get the feeling, but I'm sure it'd make a difference when he found out I was twenty years old, and lived on my own. Surely he's not _that _negligent."

_You have no idea. _"Wait...you're twenty?"

"Yeah." He laughed. "And you're sixteen, we already went over this."

I honestly didn't remember that, but okay... I let the moment pass and we sat in silence for a while sitting there holding each other. I really, really didn't want to leave, but he eventually stood up and started walking me home.

"I wanna learn more about you!" I told him, bumping into his shoulder lightly. He just blushed and scratched his head. Even when he didn't look at me I got lost in his eyes. Something about them just kind of... _made_ him.

"Weeelll..." He sighed, "I was born in 'ninety-four. I have mother issues. I like chocolate, sunset dinners, and romantic walks on the beach."

I giggled at the last part as he jokingly leaned down to me, pressing his face so close to mine that I felt myself shiver. We made an odd pair; Him—so tall, almost six foot four and me—so short, barely five feet.

"Now tell me about you."

I sucked in a slow sharp breath, "I also like chocolate, my favorite band is...In The Moment..._at _the moment. I have _daddy _issues, oddly enough, and I love Batman—well Scarecrow technically but that's besides the point. Plus, I would really like to go for that long walk on the beach right about now."

"Mmm...nope. I think I'm going to get you home. Maybe next time though." He grinned smugly.

"Scarecrow would've done it." I pouted, trying to hide my own smile while I sneaked a glance at him.

"Oh, so I've got competition now, huh?"

I winked at him, circling around to face him as we finally reached the gates outside of my house."Oh yes." ..._you have no idea..._

Although I kept up my charade, I was already losing that sweet addictive feeling that Liam gave me, just by being close to the house. He glanced at it as well, nervously; probably worried my father might be watching. When he was sure that no one could see us, he turned back to me, leaning down and kissing me again, even more tenderly than the last time. An empty sigh rushed out of me..I couldn't feel anymore. The only thing I'd felt in such a long time was ripped away by the mere closeness of the house.

My tears were cold. Like physical proof of my emotions draining out of me to leave me vacant. Liam noticed, giving nothing more than a sympathetic look.

"Next time, I'll keep you as long as you want. Okay?" He nodded, I nodded back almost desperately.

"Promise?"

"I promise." With one last strand of my hair ran through his fingers, he turned around and left. I didn't go inside until he was out of sight.

* * *

><p>"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You made me happy, when skies are gray..." I followed the voice into my kitchen, where Constance sat, bouncing Micheal on her knee. He had to have been about two, almost three at the time. She looked up at me and grinned when I came in. "Welcome home, Cherie. I was beginin' to wonder if you might ever get back from you're date."<p>

The way she articulated 'date' was unsettling. I noted the action and watched her cautiously. "Yes, I didn't really want to come home yet either, but, he insisted."

"Oh, a true gentleman I'm sure." She set the boy down, watching as he ran around but kept close. Her eyes warned him every time he'd start to go out of sight and look back to check if she'd noticed. It was cute, in a way.

"Did he walk you home?"

"...yes?"

"Good. As he should have."

"Aren't you risking him being seen by bringing him here? I thought you didn't want anyone to know about him." I gestured to little Micheal, and sat next to her. Moira was sure to turn up soon. It was clear that she didn't trust this woman anymore than I or anyone else did.

"I am, but I feel bad keeping him in there all day. Eventually he'll start running out on his own anyways so I figured I'd at least bring him somewhere close by. Besides...I want him to meet his father. At least once." The wrinkles in her face shook slightly as she tried to keep her face straight and...honestly positive is the only word for it. Happy is too strong a word for what she was managing to project.

I thought of Tate almost instantly. In a way I was curious to see how he would react to his own son, but then again, why hadn't he met the boy already anyway? Why wouldn't she have tried this before?

"I've been under watch from the police." She explained, I guess it was obvious what my next question would have been. She lit her cigarette and took a long draw from it, hissing out the air. "They've made good on their promise to keep those little, bug eyes of theirs on me. They only just gave up in the past few months, and I figured, why not go ahead and take a shot at it, hmm? I've been made to wait far too long as it is."

"And you think that Micheal will give you some sort of bond with Tate again...don't you? That he'll be so grateful for you watching the only son he managed to have, he'll forgive you for everything else that you've done?"

"And you think it wont work?" There she went with that sudden articulation despite her southern accent. I began to wonder why exactly she chose to do that at certain, seemingly random, intervals. Was she aggravated? Did my going on that date aggravate her somehow for her to have done it then? Oh yea, there were questions, questions, questions...to be answered.

"I don't have a theory as to whether it will or wont to be honest. I'm just as curious as you right now."

Our eyes met; she was analyzing me, trying to determine how much of a threat I really was, what kind of person I was. The thought made me want to laugh. She would never know so long as I kept to my acting. No one would ever know.

_Now tell me about you._ I repressed a sigh as my thoughts rolled back to Liam. I _did_ want him to know me, at least. One day. Something about him just resonated 'trustworthy'. But how could I show him myself, when I didn't know which pieces were a part of me, and which ones were just random fakes that seemed to piece together and didn't?

"Ms. Cherie, I'm glad to see you at home safe again. Can I get you anything to drink or eat?" Moira chimed cheerfully, shuffling into the kitchen.

"Chai tea would be perfect actually, thank you." Constance stood up and scooped Micheal up into her arms and walked off. I followed her, making sure to let Moira know that I intended on coming right back for the drink.

"You can't just wander around someone else's house without permission Constance. You know that." I called out, just as she started to open the door to the basement—my room. "And though I understand your history here, I would much rather you at least have the courtesy of asking."

"Stupid girl," she muttered, mostly to herself as she adjusted the baby on her hip, "This house doesn't belong to anybody. I would have thought you'd have figured that out by now."

The door was then swung open as she carefully walked down the steps. I imagine it was hard for her to keep her balance on her way down and lucky for her, I'd accidentally left the lamp on my side table lit, otherwise she would have had to navigate her way through the basement in the dark the whole way. I continued to follow her, watching curiously as she lit the main light, just as I put out the other.

The old woman didn't even bother looking at me directly when she threw her remarks over her shoulder. "Can't you give a mother a little privacy?"

I clicked my tongue, wagging my finger back and forth. "_You _don't get privacy in this house. You have a record."

"Oh of course. It's not like you're family has a damn thing worth taking anyway." She growled under her breath. Then ignored me completely.

"Tate? Tate, sweetie. I brought someone who would really love to meet you."

_It turns out I hate my mother. _He wasn't showing up. I doubted he would at all. The way the whispers continued on, almost unaffected pretty much proved that. Still, _I _was curious as to how he might react to his own son.

"Constance, I have an idea."

"Not now, I'm busy. Tate, sweetheart. Come here, just for a moment." She looked around, refusing to be defeated. Her expression was a pitiful desperation as she turned looking in any part of the room she thought he might have shown up in.

"He's not coming." I barked, forcing her to hear me, "Not while you're here. Not now. But I think I know what might get him to show up."

"And what might that be, hmm? You want to hold the baby while I go for a little _stroll_?"

"Actually, yes."

She clutched Micheal tighter to her, her expression baffled. "You're crazy."

I held my arms out. "Do you want him to meet his father or not?"

Her eyes bounced between myself and the baby in her arms. Hesitantly, she took a step towards me, then looked around one more time. I was about to give up and just tell her to leave when she finally came over to where I sat on the bed, and gently handed Micheal over to me. I smiled warmly at him as he giggled and ran one of his little toddler hands along my cheek. "Cherry," he chirped.

"You'd better not hurt my boy. I wont go any further than upstairs, you hear? And if I hear anything—_anything—_that sounds remotely like him crying I'll come down here and make you bleed worse than a stuck pig." I bristled at how serious she was, and forced out a stiff nod. It was a relief when she finally went upstairs.

I hoped Violet would forgive me for this, but I couldn't help it. Have you ever thought about something so much that the more you tease the fantasy, the less you care about the consequences? To where all you want is that one thing no matter what it takes, even if it means making a complete and total ass of yourself? That's pretty much where I was at. With all of the dreams the house gave me, and the thoughts and memories it drilled into my head, I was starving.

The house made me long for contact with Tate. Any sort of conversation at all would have sufficed. It even made me want to sit there and play with his child..._his child_...forever. Micheal had his father's curly blonde hair and dark eyes, despite his youth, I noted.

It was several minutes before I could even manage to tear myself away from him to call out to Tate. I did my best to push Violet from my mind as I called out to the one person she hated most. With relief, the whispers stopped abruptly. Several feet away, there he stood. Broken looking, teary-eyed...practically grief stricken with the most awful angry look in his eyes.

"Is that any kind of first impression you would want to give your own son?" I whispered, running my fingers through Micheal's soft hair. Tate's lip quivered, and he took a slow step towards me.

"My son?" He asked meekly, watching the boy. The tilt of his head was the only sign of curiosity, as his expression remained the same.

"You chose to show yourself Tate. You know who he is." I kept myself calm, rational, unwillingly giving in to the moment and reveling in the rush of blood through my veins.

He just shook his head, slowly from side to side, watching as the child reached out for him. "Dada," Micheal cooed. It seemed like an electric shock to Tate as he knelt down, allowing the boy to touch his face with his chubby little hands.

"And he knows who you are."

I watched, fascinated as he reached his own hands out and held the sides of his sons face before sliding them under his little arms and gently picking him up. He walked around with him for a bit, bouncing the baby on his hip and holding his tiny hands.

"Hey there little guy," I heard him whisper. He said several other silly things while Micheal giggled happily in his arms. I smiled walking over to him so that I could watch him up close and hear the things he was saying. His face was completely different now that he had Micheal in his arms, it was bright, and happy. Like a father holding his newborn baby the day they were born, though of course, he never got that chance.

His head snapped towards the door when it creaked open, and Constance slowly made her way down the stairs, peaking over the railing as soon as she was close enough to dip her head down. She probably barely caught a glimpse of him before he shoved Micheal back into my arms and vanished. The last look I saw on his face that day was barely contained anger.

"He got to see Micheal at least." I told her, handing the boy back into her shaking arms. She didn't look away from the spot Tate had been in until she'd reflexively held onto the baby with a firm grip.

Her hand shook as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "T-thank you, Cherrie. You at least managed that much."

I followed her back up the stairs, watching as she left the house without another word, and sat myself at the island where my finished, now cold cup of chai sat waiting with Moira nowhere in sight yet again. I breathed out, exasperated. My life, had become the most irritating drama it had been in a long time.

After so long of being in that house with it's whispers, I couldn't stand it. I grabbed my phone and my headphones, blaring the music as always, and ran. This time, I ran straight for the park. The cool night air, the silence when I finally took out my earphones... it was perfect. I left them playing, so that I could still hear the lyrics and enjoy the silence. This song...though she sang it for whatever man she'd given herself to, I felt reminded me of that damned house and how it twisted my mind in such awful ways.

And without that house, I could finally recall that perfect, healthy emotion that Liam had given me, and fell asleep on the bench holding onto it as tightly as I could.

* * *

><p><strong>Who is Liam? <strong>

**No SleepySiren, he's not Micheal, though it was a good guess. In chapter one I made a point to reference to Micheal just enough to show that he was in the story as well, still I want to know what you think so far! I dropped a few more hints to see if you could figure it out with a little more help. So far though I think only the hardcore nerds who watch and read the interviews would know, but there's a tid-bit of math involved as well. I will say that Liam is a name that I, personally chose four him. Thank you by the way for your most recent review, I was hoping I had kept everyone the way they were in the show, and please please _please_ let me know if I ever fail or throw something in that you think doesn't quite fit how they would act. :)**

**Also, I mentioned that Micheal was only three because at this point in time he would be. He was born technically in 2012, though at the end of the season we see him years later and much older, I wanted to show that Cherie knew him before that incident. And who doesn't want to see Tate with his own son at least once? How do you think he should have reacted to seeing his own baby? Do you agree or disagree? Let me know! I wanna know what you think!**

**SineadJones, thank you so much for all of your comments and messages! I will most definitely keep your idea in mind, I'm just slowly trying to figure my way there. I will do my best to give you a good out come I promise!**

**Zypherblaze, I'm going to apologize to you in advance. You said you liked how my chapters were so long, and I'm doing my best to keep them that way, but with all the writers block and work and everything I'm afraid they might just keep getting shorter and shorter with just as few updates in between possibly. I'm so sorry! **

**Mysterious Stranger (Guest #1), I did realize how Violet and Cherie had gotten a little too close too quick, but I originally meant for this to be a one or two chapter story and so much other stuff kept popping in my head that I just kind of rushed everything to try and get it out faster. I kind of tried to cover that with some explanations and stuff, but I don't know if I quite fixed it at all. That's one thing I never like myself when I'm reading and I'm like, 'But wait, they _just _met, wtf?', so I am sorry for that.**

**Other Myterious Stranger (Guest #2), I love you. That's pretty much it. I just grin every time I go over the reviews and see your spazzy comments. I feel so loved. Thank you. :3 **

**Please continue to leave reviews and let me know what you think so far! **

**-Beth**


	5. Poison, Or Antidote?

"There is one thing that I will tell you right now: I loved him, with the time we spent together, what little precious time we had at all. He _made _me human. It was with him that I could feel, _really feel_. So no, Cordelia. I do not regret my decision one bit. Had he asked me too before hand, I would have died for him _then_."

_-CL 05-13-15_

* * *

><p>I can tell by the look on you're face that your wondering about Violet. What her reaction was. My answer is simple...there <em>was <em>no reaction. I didn't see her after that day on Halloween. I guess she just, chose the easy way out of the problem and avoided me. Sometimes though, it was like I could feel her close by, watching. Maybe she wanted to pretend it never happened, but right when she would start to show herself to me she saw the look on my face when I had watched him that day.

To be honest, I didn't miss Sweet Lonely Cherie, let alone Violet. It was kind of exhausting having to put up a front like that so often, never feeling quite relaxed because I was always telling myself to worry about what she would think. Now, I didn't have too.

The house though...the house still fed me it's poison. I tried my best to stay out of it as much as I could, seeing as Liam had kept his promise. For months, that's all I would do was spend all day, sometimes a whole weekend, with him. He was my breath of fresh air, when I felt like I would surely suffocate. And the times that I enjoyed the high the poison gave me...those were the times that Liam would damn near have to drag me out of the house. Which he'd already done once or twice in the months that passed.

Constance got to where she would come over more often. Never like a normal neighbor, of course. Knocking on doors and asking permission were beyond that woman. But now, whenever she would show, Micheal was at her hip. I would carry him into the living room, leaving her nearly by herself in the kitchen. Moira kept a good eye on her, no pun intended.

I knew she was sneaking around the corner, watching her son and grandson play together. Lucky for her, Tate got to the point that he didn't care so long as she didn't make it too obvious, he just pretended to ignore her as he crawled around with Micheal, teaching him how to walk or just sitting him in his lap and playing silly hand games. This was the closest he would ever get to a real family, or to being happy.

And oh...the way my heart would race whenever he would glance at me. When his face lit up with pure joy at having someone to count on him, it was maddening. At times, yes, I did feel like some sort of social worker, supervising visitations, but there were other times when he would look at me as though I could have been more. I selfishly longed for that perfect romance that the house had promised me. I could even be a mother, if I really wanted to...

"Come on Cherie, what's the point of just sitting around every time Micheal's here? Join in the fun!" Tate laughed jumping up from where he sat.

"Have fun Cherie! Have fun Cherie!" Micheal parroted, clapping his hands and watching me excitedly.

I blushed as Tate grabbed my arm and drug me down onto the carpet with him and Micheal, where he convinced me to chase the little toddler around in an attempt to tickle him. This was one of those times, that the poison was pretty much rushing through my veins, aided by the cute giggles of a little child. Was it really poison, or did I simply not understand it?

Maybe, it wasn't the house at all that was convincing me to fall in love with Tate. It was legitimate, situational emotion that built with every time of contact. It was all me. After all, he had _changed._ Thanks to Violet of course, but he was changed none the less, and now with Micheal, I questioned whether or not he'd have had a better life, if he'd just met Violet then.

"Cherie?"

I sat up quickly from where I was on the floor, my heart beginning to tear in confusion. That was Liam's voice. Rationality slowly started to sink its way into my head and I looked from Tate to Micheal to the doorway. Tate had sat up, calm, and was attempting to retrain Micheal with little success. Poison or not, I couldn't deny how cute it was to watch the little boy continuously try to squirm out of his arms and run, while Tate kept his cheerful demeanor the whole time.

Liam's footsteps sounded from the front door, to the kitchen, then immediately to the living room. I'm sure by now he'd gotten used to the fact that if Constance was here, then I was with Tate and Micheal. When he showed up in the doorway, he visibly relaxed at seeing me. His look was stern but soft, and as always, he eyed Tate nervously—distrustfully.

"Cherie, thank god. You didn't call yet, so I kind of...well, you know me. I worry. I just thought..." He swallowed, unable to find the right words.

Almost guiltily, I avoided looking at the two behind me, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Micheal always calmed instantly when Liam would come into the room, because he knew what was going to happen next.

His voice would sound so sweet and innocent when he would talk, even when he sounded heart-broken. "Uncle Leemum...are you going to take Cherie away again?"

An apologetic half-smile curled into Liam's lips towards Micheal, as he walked over to me and helped me off the floor. "Yeah, I'm afraid so little buddy. Just for a little while though, I'll have her back to you in no time."

I didn't fight his decision this time, no matter how badly I had wanted to.

* * *

><p>"I'll never get why that kid keeps calling me his Uncle. It makes me wonder what the hell Constance told him." Liam muttered, his arm wrapped around my shoulders as we walked back to his place. I tried not to get too aggravated.<p>

Like I said, my best way to get to know someone was to go to their house, of which I'd gone to Liam's already, several times. Thankfully, his house had told me all it needed to say, and like every other house in my life (except Murder House), it had retreated back into it's natural silence. But I knew his secrets now, the ones he didn't want me, or rather _anyone_, to know. I left them alone simply because I felt it was his right to keep it private, but the more comfortable we got around each other, the more I noticed him lying about little things in order to keep from having to tell me the truth that embarrassed him. It also made me want to be completely honest with him.

"I just wish she wouldn't take the kid around him. What good could possibly come of that? Everyone around here knows what he did. Even if they don't know he still _exists_." His hands clenched and unclenched in a way that I'd learned to recognize as aggravation with him. He didn't hide the fact that he didn't like Tate, he never had since he'd come to my house for the first time. It didn't surprise him at all to see the dead walking around the way they did, which at the time had made me curious as to how much he really knew about it.

Well, I wasn't curious anymore.

Still, I felt myself cringe every time he referred to Micheal as 'the kid'. I wasn't even related to him and I already saw him as family! I started to open my mouth, then shut it again. How did one go about telling their boyfriend that they were a psychic? I shouldn't. Not yet. I guessed, at the moment, I would just have to put up with it. Everyone's entitled to their own opinion anyways, right?

Right.

"Tate's actually really good with Micheal. He hasn't done anything out of the way at all... I think he's being a good father, given his situation." I straightened, staring at Liam almost defiantly, daring him to disagree.

His stare was calculating. After a moment he ran his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth while he considered his response. If I had learned anything about Liam in these past few months, it was that he was like me—empty, trying to pick up the pieces of his true self so that he could feel half-way human. Part of me had even started to hope that he was with me for the same reason that I was with him—to feel.

"He's still _seventeen._ He will forever be seventeen, with that same teenager mentality. He's a murderer and a psychopath. It doesn't matter how nice he acts in front of you, it's going to rub off on that kid one way or another."

"His name is Micheal! And stop calling him that kid! He's your _blood!_" I stopped walking and turned towards him. Yep, that was a snap decision, and I literally just told myself I wouldn't say anything.

_Damn it, Cherie. Why do you do these things?_

Liam just gawked at me. This was the first time I'd ever shown him just how pissed I could be...not counting my freak outs when he'd take me out of the house. Freak outs that not even my father had paid mind to.

_Screw it, you already started. Finish what you're thinking._

I obeyed my inner thoughts almost gladly, "I get it Liam. You hate your brother. He almost killed your father, that's more than enough reason to hate him even _if_ his reasons were justified, and you're going to have your opinions. But do not, _do not_, take that out on Micheal. He's still your blood, your family, your _nephew _for god's sake! Quit treating him like he's just some _thing _that crawled out of the earth! He's a sweet kid, and Tate's a good father. If anything ends up wrong with that kid its because of genetics, not anything he's done."

"Even..._if_...his reasons were justified?" He said slowly, pulling away from me, his arms at his sides now. "I don't know what he, or Constance might have told you, but it's wrong."

"Stop lying to me Liam. Enough with the lies." I gave him the coldest stare I could muster. I don't know what exactly I had wanted to achieve at that point, maybe just to get him to admit it and be honest about it so that he could finally accept Micheal as his family, maybe even forgive Tate for what he'd done.

"You're going to believe them...over me? He might not have finished my father off, but he finished off those kids, and those people that _he _trapped there! And yet you believe him. You said you loved me, and you can't even trust _me_?"

Or maybe I wanted to push him away indefinitely. That way, I wouldn't feel so torn when I was with Tate, and I could finally give in to any and every urge I'd had since I'd moved here. After all, that's practically what I did with Violet when I formed an unnecessary bond with her. Now I just had one more unnecessary bond to sever...but then why did my heart twist so painfully at the thought of losing him? If he was as disposable as everyone else in my life, then why did it hurt so bad to imagine life without him?

I took in his own hurt expression. It hurt him that I didn't trust him, and though I knew it was fake—just like my own reactions, and his brother's—I couldn't help but hate the look in those gorgeous pink eyes of his. Part of me wanted to apologize for bringing it up, for saying anything at all, and just go back to ignoring everything. But that part of me had been losing control for several weeks now, and I was finally going to over run it.

It infuriated me that I had done my best to be honest with him saying everything as truthfully as I could. I didn't let the sociopath inside of me manipulate my reactions towards him, and yet here he stood feigning emotion so that _he _could?

"They didn't tell me, Liam. The house did. My house, you're house." I sighed, feeling myself starting to crawl back down into apathy, "Every house I've ever been in, tells me what's happened there. What it's residents have said and done. Believe me or not, that's the truth. You don't understand Liam, Violet changed him. _Micheal_ changed him! He's a different person now...a better person."

"You're still stuck. That's what it is. That house has you all twisted thinking that you're in love with him, and now it's got you thinking you're a freaking psychic. That has to be it." He ran his hands through his snow-white hair, his face twisted in a confusing mix of anger, hurt, confusion, and guilt. He couldn't decide which emotions to show, and which ones to hide, so they just all fought their way onto his face. His lips were in an odd half snarl, half frown, his eyes glistening with barely withheld tears, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Liam, the house might have it's way with my emotions, but not my own opinions, and not my...gift. I've always been like this." I tried to remember the things I'd heard in his house, to pick out something that he'd never told anyone, so that I could prove it to him.

"About two years ago, when you first moved into you're apartment, you invited some girl named Wendy over. She ended up staying the night, but by three the next morning she was in the hospital in a coma. She'd had a seizure. You sat in that bed for days staring at where she'd slept, blaming yourself for what had happened to her. You kept telling yourself that if you'd just stayed awake a little longer, or woken up a little sooner, you could have saved her. And you didn't. It still bothers you."

He looked like the breath had been knocked out of him. Those beautiful pink eyes couldn't even focus while he got lost in his own thoughts, remembering, trying to validate any other ways that I might have known that, but failing. "There's no way in hell, for you to know that."

I gave a sad, slightly hopeful smile, "There's one way."

"And you knew? All this time, ever since the beginning, you knew...and never said a word until now?"He licked his lips nervously, "There's no counting how many lies I told you just to hide that. I thought...I don't know, I thought that you'd think differently of me somehow, someway I wouldn't like. I...I don't know how to..._respond_ to this. Cherie, I think I'm going to need some time to myself for awhile."

Then he just walked off. I tried to keep up with him, to at least figure out where I should go, but all he did was wave his arm at me, mumbling an emotionless, "I don't think I can care right now."

So I just stood there. Ten o'clock at night, halfway between my house and his, with no idea as to where to go from there. All I could think to do was stay where I was, watching pitifully as Liam walked away from me. When he thought he was so far that I couldn't see him, I saw his hands raise up into his hair, twisting into it in a way that I could recognize all too well. It was how I reacted when my emotions were to crazed to define, and all I wanted to do was rip my hair out, yet always stopped just short of that.

What had I done?

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry, That's all I've got right now, I thought it was a good stopping point at the moment though. I actually planned on ending the story here, but I decided not to. I have decided though, that this WILL have an alternate ending, so be ready for that. :)<strong>

**Thank you everyone for your reviews! **

**Mysterious Stanger #3, I hope I answered a few questions on Cherie's perspective with this chapter, along with a few other questions that I was just dying to finally answer! So the secrets out! Along with a little more, so what do you think so far?**

**Laura, thank you so much! I'm glad you like it!**

**Everyone who guessed right, Congratulations! You win nothing... lol Except, I guess a couple more chapters. xD  
><strong>


	6. Motherly

"Only if you want me to..."

_A heart that flutters the whole of the day,  
>Forbidden emotions she's not meant to say,<br>Daydreams are troubles, but tasty, devine,  
><em>_**Stay Away.**_

_.  
>Her heart won't stop skipping,<br>Despite so much time,  
>The dreams never ending,<br>Fascinating,  
>Sublime..<br>**Quit.**_

_.  
>Unknowingly taunting,<br>Heart-breakingly fun,  
>Dangerously daunting,<br>**Run.**_

Please make it stop,  
>Make it all go away,<br>I don't want to want this,  
>But I can't keep it at bay.<p>

O'er my self like a cloud,  
>This self-torment remains,<br>Like dark, icy shroud,  
><strong>Please...let this end.<strong>

_._

* * *

><p>I stood there for hours, waiting to see if he might come back. Trying to decide if I should go home, or to his place, or to just...wander, like he had. The longer I stood there, the more I found myself convinced that he had been wrong. Hating him for how he'd reacted once I'd finally told him the truth. Hating him for making me feel like a monster in the same way that Marie Waters had.<p>

_You're a liar! A freak, and a liar!_

Damn it. I could hear her voice echoing in my head, images of that night trying to force their way back into my peripherals and seeping out in horrid flashes, like static in a corrupted video tape.

_I thought you were my friend! Why would you do this to me?!_

_Stay away from me you freak!_

I crouched, unable to trust myself standing.

"Shut up."

_I hate you!_

"_Shut up._"

_I hate you!_

"SHUT UP!"

I couldn't stand it anymore. I ran. I gunned it to the only place that would _force _me to think of something, _anything_ else but what was wrong with me. My feet pounded the pavement, my heart races with rage and adrenaline, my tears were hot and genuine.

Music. I needed my music.

It seemed like it had been so long since I had relied on my music to help me. The past few months, it was Liam who distracted me, Liam who comforted me, Liam who made me feel right. And now he had made me feel like an abomination. I slammed my door and desperately searched for my phone, noting at how the air smelled of rain. Where had I even put the damned thing?

I tore everything out of my side table, ripped the covers and sheets from my bed and still couldn't find it. In desperation I went to my CD's grabbing the first album I could. My hands shook so bad that I dropped the CD.

"Is something wrong?"

My scream came out as a small squeak where I tried to stop it, and spun around, running into the small shelf behind me. My knees gave out. Weakly, I noted that the CD was just a few inches away from my still trembling hand. Tate's eyes showed concern as he watched me, sitting half-crazed and shivering from repressed panic.

A single spot of cold water dropped onto my face, rolling down like a tear. I wondered if it betrayed my frantic emotions. "I...yeah, I just...uhm...shouldn't you be upstairs with Micheal?"

He shook his head, moving closer to me and kneeling by my side. My breath hitched. Was he really so comfortable being around me now? "My mother took him home after you left, he couldn't stop crying."

"Oh..."

I closed my eyes, and pulled my knees to my chest, resting my forehead on them. I couldn't even stand took look at Tate right now, not with Liam and Marie fighting over who should be louder in my head. The wind felt somewhat colder as it blew. I wanted to tell him, but I didn't. If anyone would understand, surely he would. My head was beginning to throb. I needed my music, I needed something. At least a conv...

A sob broke through, as I felt him run his hand across my hair, petting me lightly. It was a small comfort, though he might as well have wrapped me in his arms and kissed me while promising all the justice in the world and it would have been the same. Individual fingers parted my hair while he gently played with it. It dulled the voices, but they still didn't stop.

I moaned like a wounded animal.

"They won't stop..." I found myself leaning into him, and was further surprised when he wrapped his arms around me and just held me while I cried, "I can't stop remembering. And they're so loud, Tate. I can't make it stop..."

Had Liam even realized that we were alike? Did he know how hard it would hit me when he reacted the way he did? Did he even _care_?

_I don't think I can care right now._

No. And if he did, it would be fake. I was his escape to a normal life. He probably told himself that one day I would leave this house, and it would be a distant memory, and we could go day by day pretending to be normal, and never quite getting it right. He didn't want a freak like me, he wanted a normal girl, who didn't act crazy or hear voices from houses and memories. Someone who didn't really need to be fixed, just saved.

"You know, after I killed my classmates...I started questioning myself." Tate said suddenly. I lifted my head and stared at him. He was opening up to me so easily? Admitting everything he'd done without even a question as to how much I knew. "I started asking myself, did I really save their sorry asses from this sick, twisted world? Or did I fuck up what little chance it had to be better? I kept hearing them...their whiny voices begging to be spared while they pissed themselves, and it finally drove me crazy. I could have got out of this hell hole alive...stuck in prison on my way to hell, but still alive. I probably might have swung an insanity plea and just spent the rest of my life in therapy. But I didn't think I could live the rest of my life thinking about the looks on their faces. That's why I went out the way that I did...with a _bang._"

He leaned into me, breathing the word 'bang', and I couldn't help but smile at him. In our own sick way, people like us were comforted by this. "You went out with a lot of bangs." I noted, remembering the house showing me all of the police men that had shot him.

Slowly, he crawled directly in front of me, both hands on my cheeks. His face was serious. "It got the voices to stop."

Somehow my hands had found his, gripping them lightly. I waited for everything to snap back to reality and pull me from my fantasy.

Nothing happened. This was real.

How had I not realized just how close we'd really become? With all of the time we'd spent together, with Micheal, I'd been hyper aware of my own emotions towards him, convinced it was the houses poison making me worse. Now I saw that while I was focusing so much on myself, he was too. The look in his eye was dangerously close to the way he had once looked at Violet, yet somehow different. Not less, just different. I shivered. Why hadn't I worn a jacket?

"Cherie, I like you. A lot. I didn't even think I'd like you when you first got here, I just thought you'd end up hurting Violet at one point or another."

"But I did hurt her." Another cold drop, on the side of my face this time.

He shook his head, "I didn't care anymore at that point. I've heard you, calling to me in you're sleep. Saying things that I'd wished Violet would have said to me. I started watching you after that. It wasn't Violet in my head anymore, it was _you_. And the more I watched you, the more I realized that you were just like me." He grinned, rubbing his thumb on my cheek. His tone was teasing almost. "A psychopath.

"Then, when my mother brought Micheal over, and gave us a real excuse to be around each other, I didn't even care how Violet felt about it. I didn't care if she was hurt by how you acted...you did it for me, didn't you?"

I couldn't think. I had to remind myself to nod, though it came out as a seizure-like twitch more than a natural motion. He was saying everything I'd hoped me might say one day, and with every word I felt Liam becoming a distant memory.

I had always loved Tate, since the house first whispered his name into my ear. Even when he threatened my life the first time we met, my skin had burned with longing. Liam was just a scapegoat, someone that I had used to try to convince myself in a rational lifestyle. The only part of me that had ever really loved him was the tiny part that was afraid to die.

At least, that's what I told myself. And that's what I chose to believe, logical or not. I wanted this. I'd dreamed every night that I would hear these words, and now I finally had them.

"I knew it," His smile was relieved now, his hands moving from my cheeks to my hair as he pressed his forehead to mine, "Cherie, will you die for me?"

* * *

><p>Could that really happen if I went back? I rubbed my arms, regretting the black, boat-neck sweater as the rain sprinkled onto my shoulders, slowly working into an insistent pour. My raging emotions had dulled me into shock as I knelt there. My legs were stiff from how long I stayed in place. I didn't know what to do, how to act...anything. It was like Liam's presence had held me intact by a tiny thread, and now, being out of that house <em>alone<em> coming off of the high of the poison, that thread had snapped, sending all of my pieces into nothingness. My mind was all moral, versus wants.

I couldn't leave that spot—my body wouldn't let me.

* * *

><p>"Acid"<p>

_**Close your eyes, **_

_Just sink right in to it. _

_Nice and slow, _

_So that you can feel every thing. _

_._

_Don't breath; _

_Not yet. _

_Wait until your all the way under. _

_Wait until your screaming with pain, _

_And then you can breathe it all in. _

_._

_And then you can suffer..._

**.**

"Cherie?"

The sweetest, most innocent voice I could imagine broke through my haze. When I turned around, I was surprised to see little Micheal standing behind me, donned in his green jacket. The hood was pulled up, with the velcro face flaps sticking out in either direction. In his hand he held a bright yellow poncho, dragging on the ground like a safety blanket. I looked for Constance, but he was alone, just watching me.

"Hey there, buddy." I said softly, finding my composure so as not to worry him. I leaned over and rubbed his arm. He was still relatively warm, so he had to have just ran outside. "What are you doing out here alone? Where's Grandma Constance?"

He looked down to his feet and shuffled them a bit. "She's at home, asleep."

"You know, she's probably going to be mad that you left the house by yourself. She might not let you come see us anymore." Though I kept my tone light, I still tried to sound stern.

His eyes got wide, and he shook his head frantically. "Please, please don't tell her. She won't understand, I _had _to."

I smiled at him, the way you do when kids say silly things like that. "And what made you have to?"

One thing I'll never forget, was how serious, and honest his face was that day. Even being only three years old, he looked me dead in the eyes when he spoke. "I felt you hurting."

* * *

><p>When I had walked Micheal home that day, I made sure not to ask him anymore questions that might get me unsettling answers. He handed me the poncho and grinned happily when I thanked him. His hand was so tiny inside my own. I don't know what I would have done If anything had happened to him while he was outside, and made him promise me that he wouldn't do it again.<p>

With a sad sigh, he promised, and I sneaked him inside with a kiss goodnight, then went home where I would lay awake for hours. I couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said.

"_I felt you hurting."_

At least it was better that what I _had _been thinking about. But if it was true, than that empty, dull, uncontrollable feeling I didn't know how to express, had been pain. A child had felt my pain, _his _child.

* * *

><p><strong>Another short chapter, but I thought it was a perfect place to stop. I had this all burst in my head earlier today and I really wanted to put it out there. Think of it as the finished bit of the last chapter, I guess. Lol<strong>

****All poetry this chapter is from my own MyDarlingsDear account on WritersCafe.****

**Honestly Sinead, I don't plan on this story lasting much longer, but with everything I really want to do it probably will be. **

**Thanks everyone for reading! Let me know what you think so far! :)**


	7. Still Alive

I threw myself onto my bed. I couldn't stand it anymore, this 'hiding myself' _bullshit_. How long was I going to live here? And to put on a mask, a facade, a fucking _show _for them when they were _dead_? Hell no. I don't care anymore. I am Cherie Levins, Diagnosed Psychopath, Freak, Monster, Capital B Bitch, call me what you want! I couldn't handle laying there, so _still_ while my soul thrashed in anger on the inside.

So I let it out.

My nails tore at my face. My fingers pulled at my hair. My legs kicked as though I were buried alive and desperately trying to break out, which in a way, I was. I didn't care to scream, my father wouldn't care, he wouldn't come running. Moira would keep her distance with a wary eye, Vivian would gasp and look away, Ben would give a smug 'I knew it' smirk, Violet would probably just run and cry when she realized how insane I really was, and Tate...I didn't dare try and guess what he might have done if he'd seen me. I didn't let myself think about it.

The pain was exhilarating. Hot traces of blood trickled down from my scalp from my nails cutting into it, and that was my sign to stop. With a sigh, I relaxed into my mattress. Some girls cut, or start gossip. I have mini freak-outs so bad a nun would have me exorcised. That's just the way I turned out.

I felt my heart start to slow back to its normal pace and closed my eyes, finally tired for the first time in weeks.

Weeks...

...It had been three weeks since Liam had so much as called me. The last day I'd seen him, he was worried when I didn't call every six hours. Now, it was like I might as well have been dead. I guess he managed to find himself a normal girl, who probably begged him to keep his contacts in. Maybe that was the reaction he'd really wanted. Or, he wanted to be accepted by a normal girl as some sort of verification, instead of being accepted by a freak. I didn't exactly give him the right kind of validity.

A loud slam ripped through the silence so loud that I'm sure my door bounced off of the wall. Fast, tiny steps came down the stairs.

"Micheal, get back here!" I heard Constance yelling.

Tate, too, was hollering for him, as they both clamored down the stairs after him, where he stood directly beside me now on the bed.

"Micheal!" I started, staring at him wide-eyed and shifted so that I was sitting on the side of the bed, my legs hanging off. His face was flushed, and he was breathing hard as though he was about to cry, but he just stood there, staring right back at me.

His father knelt beside him, brushing his bangs lovingly—relieved. "Hey, buddy. You could have fell and hurt yourself running down here like that." He cooed softly.

"_And_ you know you're not allowed down here, Micheal," I gave him a very stern look.

He sucked in a deep breath, then shouted, "_Stop hurting_!", just before wrapping his arms around my waist as tightly as he could. I froze for a second, remembering the first time he had said that to me, and every time after.

I had refused to leave my room those entire three weeks. Every once in a while Micheal would sneak down and hold my hand or lay with me if I'd managed to fall asleep before Constance had drug him back out. As I stared down at his little blonde head, I couldn't help but feel his warmth radiating into me and I smiled, returning the hug. I kissed the top of his head and rested my cheek there.

"Don't look now," I whispered to him, "But it seems you're dramatic entrance got Daddy, _and _Grandma Constance in the same room. They really love you, little man."

It was true. Tate and Constance stood side by side, almost touching as they both focused on him. That made me a little happier, even more so when I saw a glimpse of a smile come and go from Micheal's tear-struck face. God, he looked so much like his father when he cried.

Lightly, I pushed him back, keeping my hands on his shoulders. "Do you know how horrible we all would have felt if you had tripped coming down those stairs? It would have made all of us hurt worse."

He hugged me again, pressing his face into my stomach. He was crying now. "No, Cherie. _Stop hurting. Stop it._"

I slid of the bed and knelt in front of him, wiping the tears from his eyes, and gave him a warm smile.

"I've missed you." I admitted. "Now, let's get out of this basement before Thaddeus smells you."

Even Tate chuckled a little at the shocked look on the kid's face as he turned to bolt back up the stairs. We both knew Thaddeus wouldn't actually leave his precious hidden room unless someone made too much noise directly next to it. But still, it was an uneasy feeling having Micheal so close to him. Quickly, Tate stuck out his hand, stopping Micheal just before he reached the stairs. "Oh no, you're walking up those stairs."

"But Thaddeus—."

"He's not that hungry. _Walk_." My heart fluttered when he glanced back at me as he walked his son back up the stairs, a happy grin on his face. It faded a tiny bit when Constance turned to watch him, but it didn't fade completely, he just turned his attention back to the stairs.

"He really misses you, you know," Constance said, sitting beside me on the bed. "Although he enjoys his time with his, heh, _father_, you're like a mother to him now. He couldn't stop crying that day I dragged him out of your bed, the little shit."

The way she'd said father showed all of the motherly love that I needed to see. I'd figured out over time that in her own, weird way, Constance really had loved all of her children. Just being able to call one of them a father made her almost glow.

After a few seconds, I processed the rest of what she was saying while I watched her smooth out random wrinkles in my blanket. With everything running through my head all I could think to say was, "I love him, too."

She patted the blanket, her hands hovering in her strange personal motion before she stood. "Well, I'm going to go back to sneaking around so I can watch my son and grandson. I guess, I'll let you continue your...sulking."

As I watched her leave, I realized that she wasn't saying it to be insulting me. Constance was a proud woman, she didn't like asking for favors unless she had some sort of ulterior motive, and when she didn't it was for pure kindness or need. This was her way of asking me to be there for Micheal.

The thought made me feel warm inside. It was like we were the shadow of a potentially happy family. I liked that.

* * *

><p>Nervously, I crept up the stairs and into the hallway, making my way to the living room where I was sure Tate and Micheal still were. As I walked past Constance, who peered around the corner, she gave me a soft half-smile. A sort of thank you. Tate lay sprawled across the couch, with Micheal in his lap fast asleep.<p>

"It's only the middle of the day," I whispered, laughing quietly as I knelt on the floor beside them. Lightly, I traced my fingers through Micheal's hair. "And here I actually worked up the courage to leave my emo corner."

"Yeah, I guess it's a kid thing, to pass out after crying like that. I'm surprised he isn't having nightmares, since he fell asleep talking about how he was so scared of Thaddeus." The whole time he spoke, Tate didn't take his eyes off of his son. They shined with pride.

"Thaddeus is his real-life boogey man." We both laughed at that.

When everything had calmed, I waited a few minutes, debating on if I wanted to ask him or not. In the end, I decided it couldn't hurt.

"Hey, Tate?" I shifted to a more comfortable position, sitting entirely on the floor and leaning my side against the couch where I could still see him, "Can I ask you something? It's pretty personal."

It took a second for him to answer, then finally he shrugged. "You know pretty much everything about me already. Shoot."

I chewed on my lip, instantly regretting opening my mouth. Something just didn't feel right asking this, but I'd already brought attention to it. I took a quick breath. "When we first met...you threatened to kill me if I had hurt Violet. You seemed so...dangerous. Now you seem so different, and, well, you never made good on your threat when I eventually did hurt her."

He raised his brow, an odd sultry grin spreading across his lips, "Did that disappoint you?" He lowered his voice to a breathy hush, "I can still do it you know. Kill you. It wouldn't take a whole lot of effort either."

I blushed, shaking my head. "No, no, no. I'm not, like, suicidal or anything," I stuttered.

"_Cherie, would you die for me?" _I whimpered, inwardly. I was so sick and twisted to find that attractive, but then again, what _wasn't_ wrong with me at this point?

"So, what then?" He went to shift, then stopped when he remembered that he couldn't without waking up Micheal.

"...why?"

He slid into a more upright position, watching for any signs that Micheal might wake up. "Hey, Mom."

We were both shocked when he called for her, but he kept his face emotionless as he carefully lifted his son and stood, handing him to Constance. "I think it's time for him to go home, let him know that Cherie will be here for next time, _if _he doesn't run off again."

For the first time in probably years, he smiled at her. It was a faint, almost careless smile, but it was there. I stood also, walking over to Micheal and kissing the top of his head. "Goodbye." I whispered.

Constance nodded to Tate, on the point of tears. "Alright, baby. I'll make sure he knows."

"And treat him right. Not like that bullshit you pulled with Adelade. Got it?"

Another tearful shake of the head.

I could tell that she had really wanted to reach out to him and hold him even if it was just the side of his face, but she refrained. If she pushed it too much this time, she'd end up just pushing him away. Her hand wrapped around Micheal instead and she walked out, giving one last heart-felt look at Tate before she left.

Then he turned to me, hands in his pockets while he circled me. "Right, so, why didn't I kill you? I didn't because that's what you want, isn't it? For me to kill you, so that you can be like us. _Like me_. It didn't take long for me to figure that out." He finished his dramatic circling, and flopped onto the couch, relaxed.

"So, you really do still hate me then? You're only nice because of Micheal." I didn't move. I stayed where I was for the simple fact that I didn't know what to do with myself. If I sat on the couch it would be too friendly of an approach, if I sat where I was it would be out of place. Sitting at all would feel too comfortable anyways, I guess. So I just stood, watching him.

He shrugged. "At first. I mean," The look in his eye seemed so lost while he remembered the day I had first brought Micheal to him. "He's my _son._ _My son_... After I saw how much he liked you, I kinda...I don't know. _I _started to like you. In comparison, Violet isn't anywhere near as important as he is, she's not supposed to be. That's one thing I couldn't stand about my mother, always focusing on her boy toys more than her own kids. And I want to be a good father. Good parents put their kids first."

After that, it was just an awkward silence.

"So, how often have you watched TV in the past twenty years?" I asked lightly, forcing a small chuckle, went to the TV and turned it on, flipping through the channels until I found adult swim just as it started. When I sat down, I made sure to sit on the opposite end of the couch.

He laughed too, "Not much."

"I guess only people like us can go from talking about murder, to watching this shit, huh?" I gestured towards the TV, where a commercial was playing for the 'Heart She Holler'.

"Uh...yeah." His face twisted in comical confusion and he looked at me, "What the hell _are _we watching?"

Okay, _that _brought an honest laugh out of me.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, I think this is about my standard chapter length now. So there's that with Tate and Cherie, I'm pretty sure that qualifies as friendship, or something. I dont know. Lol If you think the ending is a bit to cheezy or out of place, I apologize. It felt right when I wrote it, it still feels right to me personally, but I do realize how weird it seems. But I want to know what you think about it! <strong>

**Thx! :)**


	8. Sponges

"_**Wait"**_

Broken days with droning hours,

Ignore, still, the milk that sours,

Do not move, or flinch or speak,

Just sit there, mute, and wait for me,

Break like the days, who fall away,

But never you; You will stay,

Forget who walks; attempts distraction,

Remember, only minute reactions,

Close your eyes; your only movement,

Escape the waiting; Escape the torment,

Dream of me and no one else,

Wait for me in your own hell,

Don't question when I will arrive,

Just sit, and wait, and stay alive,

For all you know I could be dead,

_But you will wait._

* * *

><p>"<em>Wake the fuck up, sunshine!" <em>

I sleepily tried to block my face from the assault as Hayden jabbed her fingers into my forehead, slapped my face, and shook me like she thought change would fall out.

"Come on, up, up, _up! _I am sick, of listening to this _shit_ every night. I might be dead, but you can still piss me off! _GET UP!_" She gave one last violent shake before I spazzed, fully aware of what was going on now. I scrambled to the other side of the bed, trying to calm my near heart attack.

"I'm up, I'm up!" I screamed. Thankfully, she stopped and crossed her arms instead of flailing them. "Jesus, Hayden, what the hell?"

"All damn night that's all I'm hearing is 'Oh Tate I love you', 'Oh Tate you're amazing'," I grimaced at the poor falsetto she used when she mimicked me, holding her hands together by her head and batting her eyelashes. It was better after she dropped her arms and stopped acting, "Seriously though. Either screw him already or get over him, I can't stand anymore of this."

That was two separate residents that had woke me up complaining. By this point I was sure Tate knew, so I asked her to be sure.

"Oh he knows alright. He sits there and watches you sleep like a creep, just _soaking_ up the affection like a damn sponge, it's disgusting."

"So what's the point of telling him if he already knows?" The look she gave me was probably meant to be condescending. It just pissed me off a little.

"Uh, so you can be _quiet _for once."

I just raised my eyebrow, wondering how the hell that was supposed to help anything. She gave an aggravated huff and sat down on the bed next to me. "I screwed a therapist. What excuse do you think got my foot in the door? If you talk about stuff in your sleep, the same stuff, apparently it means you need to get it out. Look, just do _something _okay? Or I'll gut you in your sleep, so that you _never _sleep, got it?"

I sighed, inhaling the whispers as they returned. What was it with everyone here thinking that I was even the least bit concerned as to whether or not I died? As long as it was in this house, I didn't care.

_'I can still do it you know. Kill you.' _

Okay, maybe I cared a little about _how_ I died at least. I replayed the memory in my head as I slowly fell back to sleep. Maybe, when he'd said that, he was thinking about all the times I had called out to him in my sleep. I sifted through the whispers, fighting my way to the newest memories that the house had stored. There, in the memory, I saw him.

He would sit in the corner of my room, on some of my boxes that I had just never bothered to unpack. His hands hung limply in his lap as his head rested against the wall. Occasionally, he would sigh and close his eyes, breathing in deeply as he listened to me ramble on about my affections in my sleep. It was like he was trying to get high off of the moment. When he would open his eyes, they would be dark. Eerily dark, as he smiled at me.

* * *

><p><em>'<em>_Coming onto you,  
>The hell you got me through,<br>What would I have to do to kiss that frown...'_

I pushed my body hard as I danced, my music so loud on my stereo that I could barely hear my own heavy breathing. My arms twisted in rhythm to my jerking torso, I jumped and spun, thinking only about how I would move next.

_'_ ..._I know whats wrong with you  
>That fucked up part of you<br>Is gonna bury me under ground...'_

Don't think. Don't think. Don't think.

_'...Now I'm awake  
>Been stuck in a place I really hate<br>And it's not fate  
>Everything's just fine...'<em>

I felt a cramp building in my side already. Sweat poured out of me but it didn't matter. I wanted to keep going until I collapsed. My emotions were so bad that I wanted to run, but I didn't. What if I ran into Liam and whoever he was with now? I couldn't take that chance. They weren't bad enough for a mini freak-out, but I couldn't pent it up that long, not if I wanted to be sane enough to be with Michael. So I forced my energy out to my music. I got lost in it, pretending I was truly alone, in a cold, empty basement.

_'...So why must it be  
>Chaos Lives in Everything<br>Trapped inside a dream  
>It all comes back to me...'<em>

All at once the music shut off, leaving me gasping for air in silence. I stumbled at the sudden loss of rhythm and fell, exhausted, onto my knees. I looked around for whoever might have turned it off. I wish I hadn't. I wish I had run instead. Far, far away from here.

Liam stood there with an amused grin as he walked over to help me back onto my feet. When he stuck his hand out, I eyed it cautiously. Why was a part of me excited to see him? Why did it leap with joy at the sight of him here, and smiling? Even if his smile was...off.

"You never told me you liked to dance." He noted, walking with me as I sat on my bed. I scooted away a little as he sat right next to me.

"Yeah...it's kinda part of that, _crazy_ part of my brain." I muttered, not allowing myself to look at him directly. I was scared that if I looked into his eyes, I might forgive him. I was too happy without forgiving him. "What are you doing here, Liam? I figured you had made your point pretty clear when you disappeared for three weeks."

He laughed at me, putting a hand to my chin to try and make me look at him. The part of me that had missed him, started to allow the motion, but then I forced myself out of his grasp and focused my eyes back to the corner of my CD shelf. In the partial glimpse I did see, it was like something had flashed in his eyes for a brief moment, but I had looked away too quickly to know what it was.

His voice was still sweet, if not even sweeter than it had been before, "That's fine. You don't have to look at me, Cherie. You made _your_ point pretty clear when you didn't come to find me. You know where I live, you could have come by and made things okay again. And you didn't."

"Tch." I scoffed, "Are you serious? After how you acted? How you made me feel? Why the _hell_ would I want to seek out someone who made me feel like a _monster_."

All of the anger from the past few days oozed out into the hateful look on my face, and I wanted him to see it. The renewed rage had built a wall between the me in control, and the weak, lovesick part of me. Defiantly, I looked him straight in the eyes, muffling the tiny flutter that my heart had attempted.

"A monster? No, I never thought you were a monster." His eyes were too innocent for the look of surprise he tried to convey. No, something was definitely up, but what was it?

"A freak then? What do you want Liam, to make up and pretend it never happened? I wont pretend to be some do-good normal girl who _isn't _crazy. I gave you a chance to accept me for who I was, a chance you wouldn't willingly give _me, _and you ran away like I was the plague."

Again, he laughed. His face bright and happy as it had always seemed to be. "Make up? Oh god no. Is that what you think I'm here to do?"

He leaned in closer to me, grabbing the back of my neck hard when I tried to pull away, and whispered harshly, "I refuse to leave loose strings, Cherie. And I will have _no one_ finding out who I am. So long as you're stuck in this house, I don't have to worry about that, then, do I?"

Before I could react, his hand slid to the front of my neck, slamming me onto the bed while he crawled on top of me. The other hand wrapped with the other one and he squeezed, increasingly harder until I could feel my eyes trying to bulge out of my head. I struggled, managing to kick him between the legs and tried to get away, but he was dragging me back in mere seconds.

"_Tate!" _I screamed the first name that came to mind, just before my oxygen was cut off again. This time he tightened his grip and shook me around so hard I was sure my neck would snap. My arms stretched out on the blanket, clinging for something, anything. I succeeded only in balling up the cloth in my hands.

"Oh, right. Call for my _brother_ to help you! After all, he only wanted to help them, _didn't he?_ He wanted to _help _when he tried to kill my father! When he _killed _all of those people! Why wouldn't he help you? Right?" He shook me again, "_RIGHT?"_

A loud thud sounded above me. I barely heard it as my vision faded for a split second, my head feeling like something was closing around it as blood pounded in my ears. Then all at once I could see again, feeling light-headed. Someone was laughing. Others were rolling on the floor, hitting each other and yelling back and forth.

I swung my head around to where the most commotion was, noting that the laughter had stopped and I could think straight again. Tate sat on top of his brother punching him even though he was now unconscious and possibly nearly dead.

"Tate, stop!" I cried suddenly, running over and grabbing his arm as I knelt beside him. "If you kill him, we're stuck with him here. Let's just get him out of here and make sure he doesn't come back."

The look in Tate's eyes was empty. I could see that his darker self was in control at the moment. I wished I could take a few minutes to soak it in and enjoy the way it made me feel, but I couldn't. Slowly, he turned his head back towards Liam, looking down at him with disgust.

"What if we cut off his legs...?" He asked, serious.

"As much as I would love too, we don't have time for that. He might wake up before then." I moved around Liam, lifting him from his torso. "Come on, just help me drag him off so that if he _does _die, it's not here."

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Nonsense"<strong>_

As Daylight waits, the Darkness cries,

Beg for release—,

Forgiveness lies.

Random words spoken so soft,

Almost unheard and almost forgot,

Dream your alive, then fear that your dead,

You loudly cry awake in bed,

Losing sanity,

With no grip on reality,

Curses;

Profanity,

_Forgiveness lies._

* * *

><p>Tate held me for a long time when we got back. Both of us just stared off into nothing. The mere presence of him kept me calm, but I wasn't scared. I was vehement. Liam had better be alive, and back at his apartment. I closed my eyes and rubbed my cheek on the arm that Tate had wrapped around my shoulders, shifting my legs just slightly. They were sprawled out over his leg, while the other was behind me, and his back rested against the headboard of my bed.<p>

I wanted Liam alive, so that I could go back, and kill him myself. No one laid a hand on me without regretting it. Marie Walters was the only other person who knew that. Liam didn't. And obviously if he was capable of murder, there was no 'scaring him off'. No...selfish, worthless human waste was meant to be disposed of, especially if it's violent.

While I fantasized in the many ways I planned on disposing of my now definite ex-boyfriend, I allowed myself to enjoy the moment. There was no telling if this would ever happen again. For all I knew, he was simply making sure that I felt comforted and wouldn't hide away where Micheal couldn't see me again. But maybe, just maybe, he might have been there, because he intended to stay there. I rolled around the memory of the house, where he had watched me night after night, calling for him in my sleep.

Maybe he really could—or even did—care about me, more than he had let on.

* * *

><p><em><strong>And there it is! I apologize for any typos, I am about to go and pass out for the day. If there's anything misspelled or oddly worded I will go over it as soon as possible but I felt I should go ahead and post it so that you can read it.<strong>_

_**Thank you everyone for all of your reviews! Goodnight!**_


	9. Death's Lullaby

**Why is it that every time I write about Constance, I wanna smoke? A lot. Damn that woman. Lol**

**Anyways, on we go...**

* * *

><p>"Silent Pulse"<p>

I want to reach my hands right through him,

Into him,

Like a ghost's through a wall,

And I want to wrap my fingers around his heart,

To feel it beat,

But I will have to let go,

And rest my hands in my lap,

Because I can not have his heart,

Until he has realized,

That he has mine...

* * *

><p>I sat in Constance's kitchen, holding my now cold cup of coffee, and stared at her across the table. She took a long drag from her cigarette, giving me a mischievous smile.<p>

"I've seen the way you look at my son." She said finally, giving me a knowing smile as she tapped the ashes from her cigarette. "Like he hung the moon himself, just for you."

"Well, it's kinda hard not to, the way he saved me the other day." I didn't mean to, but my tone sounded dry and defensive. I tried to soften my expression to keep her from being insulted. Still, her expression darkened slightly. She frowned as she took another drag, propping her elbow on her crossed arm as she sat back and stared for a second.

When she finally spoke, she looked away and focused on her cigarette as she ashed it again. "Yes, well. Liam's more like his brother than he realizes. All of that high and mighty talk about hating murderers, when he can't even control his own anger. But that's a whole other story. I noticed you battin' your little eyelashes at Tate long before you knew who Liam even was. You've held this in for a long time."

I blushed, scratching the back of my head for an excuse to look away from her. I tried to avoid the topic."And here I could have died the day before my birthday too, that's hardly a good present." I forced a laugh.

"Well Happy Birthday, Cherie. I didn't even know, you don't tell us these kinds of things," She said,then gave a self-satisfied smirk. 'I knew it she liked him.' I'm sure that's what she was thinking. Her eyes wandered up to where Micheal's room was, checking to make sure that he wasn't sneaking downstairs while we talked. "Well, back to what I was sayin'. I told you before, you're like a mother to Micheal now, and God knows Vivian ain't gonna live a damn finger to help the poor boy, blood or not."

"Where are you going with this Constance?"

She took a deep breath, her eyes leveled with mine. "I want you to tell Tate how you feel about him. I'm almost positive he feels the same way, you just...need to reach out to him."

"What is it with everyone telling me that?" I asked, halfway to myself though I directed it to her. "He already knows for one. Everyone in the whole damn house knows apparently, why do you think Violet started avoiding me?"

"Tch, don't mention that selfish little whore to me, I could go on for days about what she did to my boy. And what do you mean he already _knows_? Does he not _like_ you or something?" She scoffed in disbelief, rolling the remains of her cigarette between her fingers before taking a last hit and putting it out.

"According to Hayden he likes me, and the house too. He's been, well," I blushed even harder, remembering the look on his face from the house's memory, "He's been watching me sleep."

She repeated me slowly, confused."Watching you sleep?"

"Yeah. I, uhm..I talk in my sleep, and apparently, I've been..calling out to him, confessing to him every night over and over. I've already had Chad _and _Hayden wake me up. Hayden threatened to kill me if I didn't find a way to stop." I looked down at the coffee. It would be so tempting if I knew for sure that she hadn't spiked it, but her house had pretty much told me otherwise. I knew why she wanted me here, but I didn't want her to know how much I could read just in case she decided to go outside and do it at any point in time. The woman was tricky, sweet in her own way, but very tricky. "I guess he acted like he didn't know because he didn't realize that _I _already knew that he knew." I gave a quizzical look to my own wording, then shrugged it off.

Constance gave a soft laugh, either at my expression or what I'd said about him watching me, I wasn't sure. "He _has _always been a bit of a hopeless romantic. Maybe he wants you to have just the right moment."

"Or he's saving me from having to face a really awkward rejection and simply likes being praised by sleeping fan girls." I instantly doubted my own logic when I remembered the way he'd acted before, but I didn't voice it. Instead, I tried to hurry the conversation along. When I'd glanced at the clock I realized I only had about thirty minutes before Liam got home from his part-time job at L.A .Market. I wanted to be there before he got home. "Constance, why did you really want me here? You don't ask favors unless it benefits you, I know that. I'm just being honest, not rude. So how would me telling Tate how I feel benefit you at all?"

The look on her face went from polite cheerfulness to emotionless in less than a second. She ran her tongue over her teeth while she thought, and lit another cigarette. "You are very blunt, aren't you?" She remarked, then sucked in a short hiss of air through her teeth, "_I_ was hoping that, if you and Tate did happen to fall for each other, and you one day...became a _permanent _residentof that household... Well, let's just say that I won't be in this world for long, and I want to know that when that time comes, he will still have family to rely on. Such as you, and Tate."

I just stared at her, then back to the clock. Twenty minutes. "Constance, as much as I would love to continue this conversation—," Not. "—I really have somewhere to be. I'll catch up with you later okay?"

* * *

><p>"Silence Burning"<p>

In a room full of whispers one never screams,

Because a broken silence follows,

And after that are cries of the damned reaching up,

Blacked-out memories,

Trying to resurrect themselves,

Yearning to be relived,

And the pain of death,

Becomes a blade,

To bring forth blood from one's eyes...

* * *

><p>"Oh, Liam. Did you really think I would accept that kind of disrespect and <em>not <em>do anything horribly irrational?" I asked, mockingly sweet as I rubbed the side of his face with my gloved hands. He looked up at me helplessly, his eyes panicked as he craned his neck to watch what I might do. I sat in the floor with his head in my lap, his body sprawled out on the floor before me, bound tightly with the black cord I'd had in my bag. People really needed to stop underestimating me.

He whimpered through the layers of duct tape wrapped around his head and mouth and tested his restraints just barely. "I'm crazy, remember? I'm a freak. I'm so low, that I don't even make a dent in your morals. I should be killed as if I were a wounded animal, in misery."

I laughed, more to scare him than anything. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, but I wasn't about to let him block this out. I pulled out my knife, grazing the blade along his cheek.

"Don't look away now, I was just starting to enjoy those beautiful pink eyes you're so proud of." The knife slid down his neck to his chest.

"Oh no...I don't want to to be too quick. You see, if you threaten to kill me, in a way that _I _don't want to die, that _I _haven't chosen, that _I clearly do not enjoy_, you get fucked. And not in the nice way." I slid the knife down to his stomach.

"I wonder...if I stab you in the stomach, will it burn worse from the stomach acid?" I stared directly into his eyes while I twirled the blade on its tip thoughtfully, "Let's find out!"

The blade plunged down, hard. I had flashbacks to my failed attempt at killing Marie Waters and felt a kind of redemption. Damn, I really am fucked up. He let out a pained howl as I buried my knife in him, and when I pulled it out, I just stared at it. For once, I had actually gone through with my fantasies. My therapist would be so disappointed.

I sat there, waiting for almost an hour for him to bleed out. I wanted to watch the light die in his eyes. It got to the point I was so bored I was singing to myself, making up the words as I went along.

(* "There Is Never a Choice")

"There are no choices in these dark halls,

The lights have blown and gone.

.

"Adjust to the dark to see,

As you creep down these halls,

Try not to peek into the doors.

.

"But,

Oh you will,

As curiosity rises,

You'll peek in as you pass every one.

.

"Inside you'll see horrors,

You'll see death,

You'll see torment.

.

"You'll be led by a force you can't stand,

And there's no turning back,

No turning left or right.

.

"You'll be forced to see what you never wanted,

And into a frightful sleep you will fall.

.

"There is no escaping,

No choosing to run,

Because running leaves bruises

And escaping will just _never_ happen.

.

"So keep walking,

Being dragged,

Resist how you please,

Its the only choice that you have.

.

"The end of this hall,

But there's always a turn,

You peek into the last of the doors,

But can't stand the sight...

.

"Turn the corner and see your remains."

I watched his eyes glaze over then, and smiled.

* * *

><p>When I got back into the house I was beaming. My bag was dropped by the doorway, seeing as it was empty now anyways. I started to make my way down to my room.<p>

"Happy Birthday," Tate said quietly, suddenly behind me...so close. "Where've you been all day, Birthday Girl?"

I let my mouth twist into a satisfied smile, "Out celebrating."

The air hitched in my throat as I felt his arms wrap around my waist. "You know," he whispered, his lips pressed to my ear as he spoke, "I've been saving a _very_ important present for you, but I didn't know when to give it to you. You're lucky my mother told me about your birthday when she did, or I would have waited longer."

"And what's my present?" I was breathless. He'd never acted like this with me.

Then, all at once, Tate pulled away, as though he'd never even considered his previous actions. He grinned, jabbing his thumb toward the kitchen. "Moira baked you a cake."

I frowned, but followed him into the kitchen. "That's hardly what I expected."

If Moira didn't approve of Tate's being there, she at least didn't say anything. Though she did eye him warily when he came into the room. On the center island, was a small angel food cake with white icing, decorated with various cherries around the top and bottom. In the middle of the cake was a big beautiful, "Happy Birthday, Cherry" in bright red candied gel. I smiled at how they'd misspelled my name, and just at the cake in general.

"This is so sweet, you two..." I sighed, staring at the little cake. "I take it you don't plan on eating any?"

Moira chuckled, "Us dead people don't have much of a need for food anymore, really. I did try to get your father to join us, but he seemed to be a bit busier than usual."

"Thanks anyways, Moira. At least you tried." I couldn't look away form the cake, giving an almost excited squeal when she finally cut me a fourth slice and put it on a plate. They didn't know, but this was the first birthday cake I'd had since my mother died.

"I candied the cherries myself." Moira said proudly.

"Oh, and I _do _love cherries!" I plucked one out of the icing and went to eat it before Tate stopped me.

"Save those for last." If he'd keep smiling at me like that, I'd do anything he asked. I practically melted at the sultry grin spread on his face while he leaned in close to me. I returned the cherry to its place.

"Oh, we can't forget the candles!" Moira said suddenly, grabbing her matches and lighting the seventeen candles she'd placed around the rim. "Alright, now. Make a wish."

I couldn't help it. My eyes wandered over to Tate, his face still twisted in that humored yet handsome grin as he watched me. I looked back to the cake and closed my eyes, blowing as hard as I could.

* * *

><p>Somehow I'd managed to eat every bit of the cake without eating the cherries. With a sad thought I noted that I might not be able to eat them, as full as I was. Moira had gone off to finish cleaning the study upstairs before my father got home from work, not before giving me the present that Constance had left for me. It was a red, winter dress fashionably styled. I didn't hesitate to try it on.<p>

"It looks great," Tate smiled, picking up one of the cherries and popping it into his mouth when I got back.

"Oh, what the hell!" I shouted, "I can't eat them but you can? You don't even have to eat!"

"That doesn't mean I don't miss the taste of food. Don't be prejudiced." His eyes glittered as he chewed, holding back his laughter.

"That's it, I'm eating those." I reached for the cherries, but again he grabbed my hand.

"Seriously, though, before you eat those I want to tell you something." I stared at him, confused and pulled my hand back.

"That present, that I was waiting to give you, is in those cherries. I might have tampered with them a bit. But I want to make sure that you know what's going to happen if you eat those." He lifted a hand and pushed some of my hair behind my ear, tracing his finger along the side of my face for a oment before relaxing.

"So...what's going to happen?"

Something in his smile made me nervous. The good kind of nervous, like when you know you're about to have your first kiss. Was he about to say, what I thought he was?

* * *

><p><strong>So, not quite at the ending yet, and I've started to show some of Cherie's crazier side. Negative comments are most definitely welcomed, just don't get obscenely rude or anything, lol. But I do want to know if this was the direction you expected or not. It's not over yet though! I think we have about one or two more chapters left before it's all over and done with. <strong>

****As always, any and all poetry is from my MyDarlingsDear account at WritersCafe. I'll put a list of the songs and bands in the very last chapter.****

**I do have this question: What do you think is in those cherries? OR is this even real? Dun dun duuuunnnn! :3**

**Thanks everyone! Please review!**


	10. The End

"One of those Cherries has X in it." He just sat back and grinned, resting his head on his fist while he stared at me.

"X? You spiked one of my cherries with ecstasy? _Why?...How?"_ I stared at him, open mouthed, unable to believe what he had called my 'birthday present'. "Do you realize how painful the side effects are after it wears off?"

"That's a lot of questions." He was still grinning, "Which one do you want me to answer first?"

"_All of them!" _He didn't flinch when I shrieked, and that worried me more.

"Alright, Why? Because I felt like you needed to feel something enjoyable for once, that you couldn't think yourself down about in just a few minutes." He scooted to the edge of his bar-chair.

"How? Let's just say dear ol' dad does a little more side work than you thought." His hand reached for the only cherry that I'd noticed still with a stem.

"And I can _promise _you, that you wont feel a single second of any negative side effects. I wouldn't let you hurt like that." He lifted the cherry to my lips, which I parted slowly. My heart was racing. In the back of my mind, I knew he was up to something, but I didn't care. Whatever he wanted me to do, at this point I would have done it. When he popped the cherry into my mouth, I chewed cautiously, feeling a slight crunch when the taste of medicine mixed in with the sweetness.

He leaned in and whispered, "We should probably go somewhere a little more private, so no one sees you."

I nodded, watching as he grabbed the plate of cherries and carried them with us to the basement. On the way down, I reached over for another, noting how much sweeter it tasted. Oh...it was like heaven. I tried to get another, but he held the plate out of my reach. I should probably have been focusing on the stairs a little more.

My feet reached the bottom. I opened my mouth playfully, refusing to move from my spot unless I'd been given another cherry. He laughed and tossed it in, then set the plate down. "See? You're already feeling it. Its nice isn't it?"

Nice didn't come close to how I was feeling. When I looked at him, he looked even more attractive than he had before. Like a God almost. He should have been shining. The devilish grin on his face made me melt, then evaporate, and then I was just _gone._ I couldn't take my eyes off of him, let alone my hands. I wanted to be close to him, so I was. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, so I did. He returned every motion, running his hands along my body, my sides, my back, my neck, through my hair.

I was going through sensory overload. _Everything _was amazing. Even the rush of air that blew past my face as I fell onto the mattress. The cold sheets felt more like plush than cotton when I rubbed them against my cheeks. My back tickled as it twisted back and forth to feel the fabrics of my dress as they slid.

Tate just sat there and watched me for a minute, smiling. He was knelt over me. My eye caught his when I was mid-rub on my pillow, and I looked at him, smiling. I could tell him how I felt right now, and he wouldn't think anything of it. He definitely wouldn't freak out, he probably wanted me to tell him so that he could stop pretending.

Unabashedly, I stuck out my arms extending my fingers to let him know that I wanted to hold him. He obliged, leaning down so that I could wrap my arms around him and hold him close.

"I've been obsessed with you ever since I first moved her, you know. I couldn't stop thinking about you even though you'd only ever threatened to kill me, all to protect Violet. That's why I pushed her away," I noticed a whine in my voice, but I couldn't understand why, or what emotion I was feeling to have made it, "Is because she just made it worse. And I was so jealous of what she had, and she didn't even appreciate it. She didn't appreciate you and the love you had for her, she didn't even want it. But Tate," I gently tugged on his jaw to make sure he was looking me in the eye, "I would kill for you if you asked. I would die for you. I'm horribly, pathetically in love with you, despite everything you did. Every time I thought about what you had done, it just made me love you more."

I paused for a moment, catching my breath. He pulled out of my arms and steadied himself above me, his face directly over mine. The look on his face was...relieved. His smile was softer as he put his elbows on either side of my head and brought himself closer to me. His body pressed to mine, like it had in all of my fantasies. "Say it," he whispered breathlessly.

My heart skipped. I got lost in his dark eyes. "I love you, Tate."

His lips crashed onto mine, soft but hard, prying my own lips open. Tears fell from my eyes as he kissed me. My fingers found the back of his skull, my legs wrapped around his waist. The most amazing feeling rushed through me, building in the center of my chest. As the kiss got deeper, the feeling got stronger and stronger until it was pouring out of me. His hands roamed my body then, holding me as close to him as possible. I finally understood all of those songs where they talked about holding the person until they were inside of them—its because they never feel like they're close enough, they could always be closer.

Before I knew it, my hands were under his shirt, tugging it off of him. He shook the hair out of his face with a goofy smile when I succeeded, and leaned back down to kiss my neck. The zipper that was hidden in the folds of my dress in the front, quickly came undone, showing the black bra and leggings I was wearing underneath it. He groaned, his eyes taking in the sight of me for a moment. Then his lips made a light, lingering trail from my ear to my stomach and back, with very few detours.

"Say it again," He crooned in my ear, then gently tugged at it with his teeth.

"I love you, Tate."

He kissed another trail across my cheek and to my lips again. His hands went from the side of my face, to my body, sliding down until his thumb hooked my leggings. Our eyes met, his asking permission, mine begging him to do anything and everything that he wanted.

* * *

><p>I sighed, happy when he rested, propping himself above me. Close to the end I'd felt as though my heart was going to explode with emotion. Though the ecstasy was wearing off, I kept running my hands along his arms, neck, and chest, enjoying the feel of his muscles. <em>There's blood on his chest<em>, I had thought, tired and confused. Only now did I notice the small knife laying beside me on the mattress, and pressed my hands to my own chest. It was warm and wet.

"I love you too, Cherie. More than you realize." He lay on his side then, and pulled me into him. I felt myself start to cry again, overwhelmed with how happy I was now as I clung to him. Not only did he love me back, but he planned on keeping me with him forever.

* * *

><p><strong>In the words of Lemony Snicket, "If you like happy endings, then put this book down, immediately."<strong>

* * *

><p>"I don't understand how any of this has to do with why you killed an innocent human. You were one of our top Clairvoyants, and such a sweet girl when you were younger. Cherie, what would you're mother think?" Cordelia sipped on her tea, eying Cherie pitifully.<p>

The dead girl returned the look, keeping her expression leveled. "My mother by this point would have paid as much attention to me as my father. She would think I was insane, which, I am." Her grin was vicious and sarcastic.

"Now, you tell me. Where is your council? Shouldn't they be with you on a matter like this, to condemn me? Or did you already know you wouldn't be able to?"

Cordelia just shook her head sadly. "I've always liked you Cherie, really I have. But I cannot show favoritism, even to one of my best students."

"I'm already _dead_ Cordelia. How do plan on dragging me out to the stake?"

"Yes. You are." She tilted her head, "I'll never understand it. To kill yourself not only for someone like him, but in a house that our own ancestors had cursed. What did you think you could achieve? A happy ending? Don't you regret any of it at all?"

"There is one thing that I will tell you right now: I love him, with the time we've spent together, what little precious time we've had at all. He _made _me human. It's with him that I can feel, _really feel_. So no, Cordelia. I do not regret my decision one bit. Had he asked me too before hand, I would have died for him _then_." Cherie watched her defiantly, as the Supreme stood, making her way to the door. Before she opened it, she turned around, giving one last sad look, as though she wished she could do something, _anything _different..

"Cherie Levins, in the absence of the Council, and as reigning supreme of this coven, I sentence you to _re-death_ by fire, for the vindictive murder of an innocent, Liam Langdon." She opened the door and stepped out, walking as far out as the yard. It hit Cherie with the force of a freight train when she realized what Cordelia was doing. When Cherie left the window, the other woman had faced the house, and lifted her arms. In seconds the house was encased in flames and Cordelia had gone.

"_Tate!" _Cherie screamed, running to the basement to find him. Desperately, they held each other tightly, for as long as they could. Unfortunately, the more the house burned, the more they burned. Every ounce of happiness Cherie had felt was gone, replaced by fear. Her love's shoulders began to char, just as her own hands did. Spots of burned flesh marked his cheeks. She closed her eyes, unable to look at him any longer as the flesh began to melt off of his jaw, and her fingers. She could hear everyone else in the house screaming and clung to him tighter. He held her just as tight, whispering to her calmly, "It's okay, Cherie. We're going to be okay. I'll find you in the next life, I promise, just don't give up on me."

"I could never give up on you, Tate. I love you."

"I love you too, Cherie."

Despite their condition, they pressed their lips tightly together, for one last kiss. Neither pulled away. Seconds later, everything was gone. Her arms, clung to nothingness.

She was alone.

* * *

><p>"Sing it all away"<p>

.

Open your mouth,  
>And sing all your sorrows away,<br>Let the mess of despair,  
>Pour out with the music.<p>

Feel it drain from your soul,  
>Like infection from a wound,<br>And the sweet soft emotion,  
>The sweet, delicate sanity,<br>The love,  
>The joy,<br>Everything...  
>Let all of it just...<br>Become.

Let it become a part of you once more,  
>Let it last.<br>Hold on to it.  
>Don't let it go.<br>Just keep singing away your sorrows,  
>Your loneliness.<br>And maybe,  
>Just maybe...<br>Everything will be okay.

* * *

><p>Constance Langdon saw the house on her way home from the hairdresser that morning. The sight of it made her panic. Tears poured from her eyes as she paced the smoldering remains of the house, calling out to her children with no answer. It was several hours before she could calm herself enough to return home and face her grandchild. How was she supposed to tell him that his father and Cherie were gone? That they couldn't even come back in death?<p>

She stepped through the door way to her home. The blood on the fridge was the first thing that she noticed, dropping her milk and following the trail of blood up to Micheal's room. When she looked in, she relaxed, seeing that he had only killed the maid, instead of having been hurt.

Carefully, she knelt in front of him where he sat in the rocking chair, staring somberly at the dead maid.

"Cherie's gone, Grandma. Daddy went with her, but she's still hurting...why wont she stop?"

* * *

><p><strong>And THAT is my ending for this series. It was so much fun to write! And I'm really sorry if it seems a bit rushed or anything at the end, I just really wanted to get it out and finished, I've had it swimming around in my head like crazy while I tried to get to it. <strong>

**So, thoughts? Be brutal!**

**Thanks everyone for your reviews!**


	11. DDLMEA 1-point-0

**This is the literary splurb doodle non-sense that made me want to take the series seriously. I just wrote random crap here, but you can kind of see the essence of Taste of Cherrys. Like a baby Cherie still being raised into what she is now. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>A long time ago, Darkness found its way into my heart. It must have been when I was very little, because I don't remember how it got there. But over the years it's grown, consuming me. I've only tamed it with sanity—rational thinking. If I do this, then that will happen. If I go here, then this will be there. If I hurt her, then <em>I_ will suffer the consequences. Only in my mind can I enjoy the darkness, and sink into its comfort. Only in fantasy can I embrace it. I'm afraid that one day, rationality will lose it's hold, and that I'll be too wrapped up in the sweet intoxication of the darkness to consider what might happen. I'm afraid I'll lose my last shred of humanity._

Cherie's hand shook as she reminded herself what she had written. The hand was outstretched, and hesitant. If she let go, she could very well be sentencing herself to a psyche ward. With a deep breath she looked at Dr. Harmon, feeling her fingers tighten around the paper reflexively. His voice was soothing as he tried to calm her.

"Cherie, it's okay. I won't have you committed just because of a few personal thoughts. This is merely an exercise, so that we can make progress." He smiled warmly, and slid forward to carefully take her admission to insanity.

It was torture to watch him read it. His eyes darkened with worry as he neared the end of it, and yet he still forced a comforting smile. "This is good. You're 'last shred of humanity' is intact, you haven't acted on anything, and there is _resistance._ Cherie look at me."

She looked at him.

"You haven't broken yet. You're not a psychopath, just a confused little girl who doesn't know which way to go. It's okay."

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to put trust in that warm, fake smile, but then something echoed from him. He didn't move, he didn't speak, but the words fell from him as though he were saying them all over again.

_Therapy is bullshit._

_People just want to blame their problems on their crazy mothers. _

_They want to feel special._

_Sound familiar, Tate?_

* * *

><p><em>Sound familiar, Tate?<em>

Dr. Harmon's voice echoed in Cherie's ear as she opened her eyes to the daylight. She'd gone into the study in her sleep again. Why her father had set it up at all was a mystery to her, but at least the room wasn't just empty. And besides, Dr. Harmon seemed to like it. It was close enough to the way he would have set it up, she supposed. With it's red leather seats, and oak wood desk and shelves it seemed very professional and timeless. The books along the walls weren't really any specific subject, they were just random books that her and her father had taken to over the years. Everything else in the room was just décor, like a show room. Though it was a nice place to go when she just wanted someone to talk to.

With a sigh Cherie got up and went into her own room, noting that the paper she'd written _was _in fact gone from her own desk. Frustrated, she flung herself onto her own bed and wrapped her fingers into her black curls meaning to tear at them but stopping just short of it. Therapy wasn't complete bullshit. Sometimes he could answer questions that she couldn't, and that in itself was enough.

Angrily she screamed, trying to get rid of that horrible emptiness inside of her, and it worked. For like, two seconds. Then an odd wave of discomfort took it's place and in her confusion she wondered if she were actually sad, not angry. Or maybe it was the lack of emotion inside of her unsure of how to feel when she was wrapped up in her thoughts.

"Why do we long for understanding?" She said suddenly apathetic, though still hoping to be heard and answered. That was one good thing about this house, in a way. When you didn't want to focus on your thoughts by your self, at least one of it's inhabitants might find you interesting. "Is it for empathy? If all of our emotions are fake, then why do I feel so damn depressed!"

"Maybe it's because our emotions are only a shadow of what normal people feel."

Cherie spun towards the voice, startled. Just as with Dr. Harmon, she could hear words pouring from him as though he were speaking them himself, but it wasn't his voice. It was his mothers. _The voice of a poet without the grit or steel that acts as a bulwark against this horrible world._ Almost as though to further the point of his mother, Tate grinned, unaware of what Cherie had heard.

She grinned back. "So...I'm asleep again?"

"No, you're awake. You've always been awake." Casually he laid back on her bed, arms folded behind his head.

With a sigh, she crawled next to him, absently playing with her curls. "With everything going on in this house, I'm not going to pretend that I'll ever understand it completely."

"I'm surprised you made it this far."

"Without dying?"

"That too."

They laughed, and again Cherie found herself watching him. Sunlight filtered through the thin space between her curtains, cascading across his brown eyes, his cheek, the tip of his nose, his lips... She rolled to face him, for a moment she forced her eyes to the blood red of her sheets. She started twisting her curls around her finger again. "Tate?"

"Hmm?"

"How did it feel? When you killed them, I mean." Was she really, nervous, asking him this? Or was she just trying to be endearing? It's not like she could just say it without any emotion at all. It felt wrong.

And then, what about Tate? They were supposedly the same after all. So was it real confusion when he furrowed his brow and his lips curled in that slightly rejecting look. Was he trying that hard to forget, or was he withholding it from her only? "Who?"

"Any of them. I know there are several of them here, but then there's also the students too. Was it the same with all of them?" With genuine interest, Cherie reached her hand out towards him, wondering if he would answer her or if he would run, if he was straining to keep that look, or if it was natural. Her fingertips had barely touched his skin when he backed away from her.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Why would you say that about me? I haven't hurt anyone." Oh there it was. He was definitely lying; The tears came too quickly. Though it was sweet how his lip trembled so believably.

"Tate, honey, ever since I set foot in this place it's been telling me it's secrets. And _I_ know that _you_ know what you did."

* * *

><p><strong>Any questions, comments etc. about the series? Ask away! I'll continue posting little notes here and there, I thought about doing a few bloopers chapters, or deleted scene type stuff just for fun.<strong>


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